Old 

Times 

in  Oildom 

€S00^  W.  Btowm 


\ 


\ 


GEO.  W.  BROWN. 


Old  Times  in  Oildom 

By 

Geo.  W.  Brown 


Being  a  Series  of  Chapters  in  which  are  Related 
the   Writer's  Many  Personal  Experien- 
ces, During  Fifty  Years  of  Life 
in  the  Oil  Regions. 


FOR  SALE  BY  GEO.  W.  BROWN, 
IcOUNGSVILLE.PA. 


FIS7 

0  5BS 


Preface* 


I  wish  to  say  to  my  readers  that  I  have  but  two  reasons  for  writ- 
ing this  little  book.  The  first  reason  is  that  eleven  articles  were 
written  to  the  Oil  City  Derrick,  some  years  ago,  in  the  way  of  cor- 
respondence. Then  I  was  requested  by  the  business  manager  of 
the  Derrick  Publishing  Company,  J.  N.  Perrine,  to  write  more 
about  *'01d  Times  in  Oildom."  He  explained  that  they  would 
gladly  publish  it  in  book  form. 

My  second  reason  is  that  I  wish  to  enlighten  the  present  genera- 
tion regarding  the  many  points  of  difference  between  the  present 
time  and  fifty  or  seventy-five  years  ago. 

It  seems  to  me  to  be  the  duty  of  those  who  saw  these  great  chang- 
es to  hand  them  down  to  present  and  future  generations — to  those 
who  can  never  know  these  things  first  hand.  You  will  by  reading 
this  book  learn  that  it  is  not  a  book  of  fiction,  with  a  single  thread 
running  through  all  of  it.  Dozens  and  dozens  of  different  little 
stories  will  be  found  in  these  brief  touches  on  the  history  of  the 
progress  of  our  great  country  and  state,  and  dozens  of  names  of 
worthy  but  almost  forgotten  people  will  be  found  here. 

The  reader  should  thoroughly  understand  that  the  first  eleven 
chapters  of  this  book  were  written  in  1896-1897.  The  addi- 
tional chapters  were  written  in  1909. 

G.  W.  BROWN. 

Youngsville,  Pa.,  July,  1909. 


f;Ai:?ssoo 


HAULING  OIL  ON  SLEDS 


CHAPTER  I. 

HAULING  OIL  ON  SLEDS. 

Coleman  &  Batchelor  have  just  commenced  a  five  years'  lumber 
job  at  the  "old  Pennsylvania  house,"  four  miles  below  Irvineton. 
One  peculiarity  about  this  business  is  the  fact  that  the  saw  mill  is 
on  the  west  side  of  the  Allegheny  river,  and  the  shingle  mill  is  on 
the  east  side  of  the  river.  A  tramway  is  being  built  three  miles 
back  into  the  lumber  woods,  where  all  kinds  of  timber  is  found, 
that  flourishes  in  this  climate.  They  cut  all,  both  hard  and  soft. 
The  loaded  tram  cars  are  drawn  by  a  steam  locomotive,  and  run 
directly  onto  a  ferry  boat,  which — by  the  aid  of  an  inch  wire — 
sails  across  to  the  mill,  where  the  logs  are  tumbled  into  the  river, 
being  hitched  to  and  drawn  into  the  mill.  This  firm  has  leased  the 
old  Pennsylvania  house,  and  a  plot  of  land  to  pile  their  lumber  on 
to  dry.  Speaking  of  this  old  house,  reminds  me  of  the  early  days 
of  oil  transportation.  Before  a  railroad  along  the  Allegheny  was 
even  talked  of,  the  oil  was  transported  from  Tidioute  to  Irvineton 
in  barrels.  In  the  spring,  summer  and  fall,  large  flat  boats  towed 
by  two,  three  and  four  horses,  in  single  file,  were  used  to  transport 
the  oleaginous  treasure  from  the  wells  at  Tidioute  to  the  P.  <^  E. 
railroad  at  Irvineton.  This  was  greasy  work  for  the  men,  and 
killing  work  on  the  horses.  In  the  fall  and  spring,  when  the  shore 
ice  was  thick  and  sharp,  the  poor  animals  were  pushed  through  the 
breaking  ice,  that  would  about  half  bear  their  weight,  cutting  their 
legs  so  severely  that  the  generally  clear  waters  of  the  Allegheny 
ran  red  with  their  blood.  Many  a  noble  horse  laid  down  his  life 
in  this  savage  work.  It  was  no  uncommon  sight  to  see  the  bloated 
carcasses  of  horses  lodged  along  the  shore.  When  a  faithful 
equine  would  give  up  his  life,  the  owner  found  it  an  easier  way 
to  dispose  of  his  carcass  by  floating  it  off  into  the  river  than  to 
bury  it  decently  on  the  shore.  But  when  the  ice  got  so  solid, 
in  the  winter,  that  it  could  not  be  broken  by  the  horses'  hoofs, 
the  mode  of  transportation  was  on  bobsleds,  drawn  by  horses  that 
were  not  killed  in  the  ice.     As  the  oil  wells  about  Tidioute  on 


6  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

Dennis^  run  in  particular,  were  considerably  on  the  gusher  order, 
it  required  a  vast  number  of  teams  to  transport  it.  One  trip  was 
a  good  day's  work  for  a  team.  The  loads  ranged  from  six  to 
twelve  barrels  each.  The  reader  can  easily  imagine  the  great  ne- 
cessity for  hotels  and  stabling  under  these  circumstances.  The 
roads  were  completely  lined  with  teams.  It  was  almost  an  im- 
possibility for  the  hosts  of  teamsters  to  find  board  and  lodging 
for  themselves  and  horses.  This  was  the  situation  of  things  when 
"Jim"  Conroe,  an  old  farmer  domiciled  on  the  east  bank  of  the 
Allegheny,  took  it  into  his  head  to  show  his  philantrophy  by  build- 
ing a  four-story  hotel  on  the  narrow  strip  of  land  between  the 
wooded  hillslope  and  the  river.  He  put  on  all  the  masons  and 
woodworkers  that  could  find  room  to  work  and  soon  the  magni- 
ficent Pennsylvania  house  reared  its  tall  roof  skyward,  standing  on 
an  immense  cut  stone  foundation,  and  ornamented  by  huge  wooden 
pillars  in  front.  People  were  wont  to  say:  "How  will  Jim  ever  get 
his  money  back?"  Well,  Jim  did  get  his  money  back  in  about 
one  year.  His  big  hotel  filled  up  every  night,  as  if  by  magic, 
and  some  nights  more  were  turned  away  than  were  taken  in, 
and  Jim  soon  found  himself  rolling  in  wealth.  But  an  end  comes 
to  all  good  things.  Soon  the  cunning  oil  producer  began  to  lay 
pipe  lines.  Then  a  railroad,  now  the  W.  N.  Y.  &  P.,  then  the 
Warren  and  Franklin  road,  with  its  iron  tank  cars  (brought 
into  use  by  the  lamented  Adna  Neyhart),  great  iron  tanks  that 
held  the  oil  until  convenient  to  move  it  to  refineries,  lightened  the 
weight  of  the  crude  on  the  ground  where  it  was  produced;  pump 
stations  sent  the  oil  through  many  arteries  all  over  the  land, 
and  James  Conroe  found  his  great  hotel  unoccupied  by  guests. 
He  lived  in  this  hotel  with  his  family  until  it  nearly  rotted  down 
over  his  head.  Then  this  lumber  company  came  and  rented  the 
property,  rejuvenated  the  old  hotel,  and  now  three  families  live 
under  its  hospitable  roof,  and  "keep  boarders."  Conroe,  the 
builder,  has  moved  out,  and  now  contentedly  spends  his  waning 
years  on  the  fine  old  farm  above  Dunn's  eddy,  known  as  the  "Dave 
Crull  farm."  Such  are  a  few  of  the  changes  in  the  great  oil  busi- 
ness. Oil  cost  something  those  days.  The  fourtnate  owner  of  a 
gusher  was  obliged  to  pay  $2  each  for  his  barrels,  and  $1  for 
hauling,  a  smart  sum  for  storage  at  the  railroad  depot,  and  high 
freights  to  the  railroad  corporations,  which  had  not- learned  to 
respect  this  new  oil  business. 

If  the  eye  of  any  of  those  old  teamsters  happens  to  fall  on  this, 
they  will  recollect  the  late  James  Patterson,  who  checked  their 
loads  of  oil  at  Irvine  ton.     Many  a  belated  teamster  came  after 


'  STAGING  TO  OIL  CITY  7 

Mr.  Patterson  had  "shut  up  shop'*  for  the  night.  The  most  ur- 
gent entreaties  of  these  teamsters,  asking  Mr.  Patterson  to  check 
their  loads,  were  invariably  answered  by,  ''I  cawn't  do  it,''  and 
the  poor  fellows — many  of  whom  wished  to  go  elsewhere  for  the 
night — were  obliged  to  linger  until  morning. 


CHAPTER  II. 

STAGING  BEFORE  RAILROADS  WERE  A  BLESSING  TO 

OIL  CITY. 

When  the  Atlantic  &  Great  Western  railway  extended  its  Oil 
City  branch  (or  Franklin  branch  as  it  was  called  at  that  time)  to 
Franklin,  the  author,  who,  at  that  time,  was  helping  to 
supply  Smith  &  Allison,  the  only  lumber  yard  owners  in  Oil  City, 
with  boards  and  shingles,  was  making  almost  weekly  trips  to  the 
"Hub  of  Oildom."  On  one  of  these  trips  he  took  his  wife  along 
to  let  her  see  the  beauties  of  oildom,  as  the  beauties  shown  forth 
at  that  time. 

Well,  one  very  cold  winter's  morning  we  took  the  P.  &  E.  ac- 
commodation to  Corry.  Here  we  changed  "cars"  for  Meadville. 
A  rather  pleasant  ride  on  the  old  Atlantic  &  Great  Western  soon 
landed  us  in  a  great  covered  depot  in  Meadville.  After  a  first- 
class  dinner  at  the  McHenry  house,  that  great  structure  so  well 
known  to  old-time  oil  men,  where  for  $1  the  hungry  traveler 
could  be  feasted  as  sumptuously  as  at  any  of  the  great  hotels  of 
New  York.  Alas  for  all  vanishing  things.  How  the  greatness  of 
the  McHenry  house  has  fallen,  once  the  white-aproned  colored 
waiter  flourished,  now  rats,  and  I  was  on  the  point  of  saying,  owls 
find  a  home.  We  took  passage  on  the  "Franklin  branch"  for  that 
"Nursery  of  Great  Men" — Franklin.  No  "Exchange  hotel"  at 
that  time  (in  fact  no  Mitchell  lived  there  to  build  one.)  We,  wife 
and  I,  put  up  at  the  United  States  hotel,  Franklin's  pride  in  the 
hotel  line.  After  partaking  of  a  very  palatable  supper,  we  were 
consigned  to  the  only  vacant  room  in  the  house;  but  after  being 
piloted  in  devious  ways  among  cots  by  the  dozen,  placed  in  the 
parlor  and  halls  in  every  nook  and  corner  by  the  accommodating 
porter,  we  found  that  we  were  in  a  room  without  lock  or  fastener 
of  any  kind.  I  did  not  feel  safe,  but  my  wife,  the  courageous 
woman  that  sh^  always  was,  said,  "Let  the  door  go  without  fast- 


8  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

ening:  no  one  will  hurt  us."  With  slight^misgivings,  I  fell  asleep 
that  night  to  be  awakened  about  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  by 
a  man  crawling  around  on  the  floor  of  our  sleeping  apartment. 
(Don't  get  alarmed  reader,  nothing  is  going  to  happen.)  I  raised 
on  my  elbow  and  also  raised  my  voice  in  a  courageous  tone,  and 
demanded  of  the  intruder  his  business  in  our  room.  The  incoher- 
ent muttering  of  the  supposed  culprit  soon  convinced  us  that  the 
poor  fellow  was  a  victim  to  old  King  Alcohol,  and  that  he  was  on 
the  verge  of  the  ''jim  jams."  He  had  just  sense  enough  left  to  get 
out  of  that  room  as  gracefully  as  a  man  is  expected  to  when  not 
able  to  walk  upright.  He  was  no  criminal,  simply  in  a  dazed 
condition.  Several  other  men  have  been  in  tlie  same  condition 
from  the  same  cause.  The  next  morning  we  took  passage  on  the 
stage  for  Oil  City.  Five  dollars  was  the  modest  charge  for  two  of 
us.  This  would  have  been  less  burdensome  if  not  for  the  fact  that 
the  male  passengers  were  obliged  to  jump  out  many  times  and  help 
extricate  the  wheels  of  the  stage  from  the  deep,  frozen  ''chuck 
holes."  In  fact,  we  not  only  helped  lift  the  wheels  out  of  these  holes, 
but  many  times  we  walked  along  for  quite  a  distance  with  our 
shoulders  to  the  vehicle  in  sometimes  vain  endeavor  to  keep  the 
stage  wheels  clear  of  those  deep  holes.  After  a  short  sojourn  at 
the  ''Gibson  house,"  which  would  not  compare  favorably  with  the 
pride  of  Oil  City,  the  Arlington,  in  size  and  accommodation,  but 
in  good  cheer  its  full  equal,  myself  and  wife  concluded  we  would 
reach  railway  accommodations  by  a  different  route  than  the  one 
we  came.  The  route  chosen  was  up  Oil  Creek  "by  stage"  to  the 
Shaffer  farm,  where  the  "Oil  Creek  railroad"  then  had  its  terminus. 
Profiting  by  my  experience  while  getting  from  Franklin  to  Oil 
City,  I  very  gallantly  paid  $5  for  my  wife's  "stage  fare"  to  the 
Shaffer  farm,  and  "hoofed  it"  on  terra  firma  myself.  You  read- 
ers may  think  this  is  a  sort  of  a  "buckwheat"  arrangement  to  save 
$5.  Nothing  of  the  kind.  This  arrangement  had  a  twofold  ad- 
vantage,in  fact,  a  triplefold  advantage.  First,  it  was  much  easier  for 
a  man  to  walk  from  Oil  City  to  Shaffer  farm  than  to  try  to  hang 
on  to  a  "stage  and  ride";  second,  my  "better  half"  was  much 
safer  with  her  faithful  husband  walking  by  the  side  of  the 
jostling,  tipping,  rattUng  "stage,"  ready  with  his  strong  arms  to 
arrest  the  movement  of  the  stage  when  it  would  be  standing  on 
two  wheels,  ready  to  fall  on  its  side;  and,  third,  there  was  only 
room  in  the  crowded  thing  called  a  "stage"  for  the  few  male  trarel- 
ers.  The  ladies  were  afflicted  with  a  harum-scarum  boy  for  a 
driver,  who  would  lash  his  horses  into  the  numerous  crossings  of 
Oil  Creek,  without  any  regard  to  whether  the  ice  was  thick  enough 


OIL  GREEK  POND  FRESH  9 

to  hold  them  up  or  just  thin  enough  to  let  them  go  through  with 
a  smash  and  a  crash.  Such  driving  I  never  witnessed  before  or 
since.  It  was  really  a  relief  to  all  concerned  when  the  carriage, 
stage,  wagon  or  whatever  it  might  be  called,  broke  down  with  a 
crash  when  two  miles  below  Shaffer  farm.  I  never  saw  a  more 
willing  set  of  travelers  than  those  ladies.  They  never  knew  what 
a  comfort  it  was  to  have  a  genuine  breakdown  before.  When  the 
cars  were  sighted,  a  happier  set  of  ladies  were  not  met  with  on  Oil 
Greek  than  those  who  were  just  released  from  the  perils  of  Oil 
Greek  stage  travel.  All  got  to  the  train  on  time  except  one 
''smart"  young  man  and  his  best  girl.  The  young  man  had  more 
confidence  in  his  time  piece  than  in  others  carried  by  experienced 
travelers  and  insisted  on  all  taking  a  slower  gate.  All  got  on  the 
tr  lin  "just  in  time"  except  this  ''smarty,"  who  had  the  fun  of  see- 
ing the  train  move  off,  not  to  return  for  him  and  his  girl  until  the 
next  day.  In  this  age  of  progress,  let  the  passenger  of  those  days 
answer  whether  there  is  an  improvement  when  he  now  lies  down  in 
a  luxurious  berth  of  a  Pullman  sleeper  and  glides  along  the  crooked, 
winding  Oil  Creek,  without  a  jar. 


CHAPTER  IIL 

OIL  CREEK  POND  'TRESH." 

The  young  people  don't  know,  and  the  older  ones  have  nearly  for- 
gotten, when  walking  over  the  smooth,  hard  brick  pavements  of 
Oil  City,  what  a  change  science  and  hard  knocks  have  brought 
about.  Let  the  reader  look  backward  a  few  years — what  do  we 
see?  We  see  a  sea  of  thick  mud  in  all  the  streets  of  Oil  City,  the 
depth  of  which  could  only  be  guessed  at.  The  writer  at  one  time 
stood  on  the  corner  near  the  First  M.  E.  church  (which  was  burned 
years  ago)  and  saw,  with  his  own  eyes,  three  unfortunate  horses 
floundering  flat  in  the  very  deep  mud,  with  as  many  gangs  of  men 
trying  to  tow  the  poor  brutes  to  one  side  of  the  street,  where  the 
mud  was  not  quite  as  deep  as  in  the  middle  of  this  muddy  canal. 
Now,  m_ind,  these  horses  were  all  down  at  the  same  time,  in  three 
different  directions,  all  in  plain  sight  of  the  corner  spoken  of  above. 
One  of  the  horses  was  owned  and  driven  by  the  only  Tom  Hecker, 
who  is  known  to  every  man,  woman  and  child  in  Oil  City,  and  who, 
from  almost  time  immemorial,  has  raised  chickens  and  took 
toll  at  the  north  end  of  the  Suspension  bridge.,     Tom  can  tell  you^ 


10  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

about  mud  and  Oil  City  pond  freshets. 

Fearing  that  the  unsophisticated  readers  may  not  know  what  a 
pond  freshet  is,  I  will  say  that  the  mode  of  getting  the  oil  from  the 
big  wells  along  Oil  Creek  to  the  Allegheny  river  was  by  towing 
boats  and  barges  up  Oil  Creek  to  the  wells  along  the  banks  on 
either  side  with  horses,  then  running  the  oil  from  the  wooden  tanks 
into  these  boats,  in  bulk.  Tube  works  were  not  heard  of  those 
days  in  this  section,  and  the  pipes  that  conveyed  the  oil  from  the 
tanks  to  the  boat  were  generally  made  of  boards,  planks  or  any- 
thing that  happened  to  be  lying  around  loose.  When  all  the  own- 
ers of  boats  were  ready,  and  they  were  legion,  the  chutes  on  all 
dams  above  Titusville  would  be  cut.  Then  came  the  rushing 
waters,  ropes  that  held  the  loaded  boats  to  the  shores  would  be  cut 
and  the  mad  race  for  the  Allegheny  would  be  on.  No  old  pencil  of 
mine  can  describe  the  scene.  Little  and  big  bulk  boats  would 
fight  their  way  down  the  rushing  waters,  endways,  sideways  and 
in  all  shapes,  these  boats  would  heave  in  sight  of  the  shanty  town 
of  Oil  City.  The  old  bridge  across  the  mouth  of  the  creek  would 
be  black  with  people  who  flocked  from  the  rough  board  shanties, 
called  houses,  to  see  one  of  the  sights  of  the  world,  such  a  sight  as 
was  never  seen  before  and  never  will  be  seen  again.  I  witnessed 
one  of  these  runs  which  ended  very  disastrously.  The  first  boat 
to  reach  the  bridge  was  one  carrying  400  barrels  of  oil,  in  bulk.  The 
boat  and  oil  was  owned  by  an  old  Oil  City  citizen  named  Turner. 
He  didn't  turn  that  boat  and  cargo  into  money.  The  forward  end 
of  the  boat  struck  a  rock  a  few  rods  above  the  bridge,  swung  around 
and  sailed  up  against  the  middle  pier  of  the  old  bridge,  the  middle 
of  the  boat  striking  the  pier.  Turner's  boat  came  around  the  pier 
in  two  pieces,  and  his  oil  painted  the  river  green  from  shore  to 
shore.  But  if  the  show  had  ended  here  a  vast  amount  of  money 
would  have  been  saved.  The  first  boat  that  cleared  the  old  creek 
bridge  safely  stuck  on  the  river  bar,  out  in  front  of  the  mouth  of 
the  creek.  The  river  was  low,  and  the  creek  high,  consequently 
the  hundreds  of  boats  piled  up  against  each  other  until  the  creek 
was  a  great  drift  pile  from  the  bar  in  the  river,'  to  quite  a  distance 
above  the  Lake  Shore  tunnel.  As  the  oil  was  slashing  around 
loose  in  all  these  boats  it  was  as  amusing  to  the  observer  as  it  was 
dangerous  to  the  boatmen  to  see  the  oil,  when  the  boat  would 
smash  into  the  jam,  go  surging  from  the  rear  to  the  front  of  the 
boat,  there  to  pour  into  the  waters  of  the  Allegheny.  As  may  be 
imagined,  this  general  smashup  was  a  great  loss  to  the  owners  of 
the  boats  and  oil.  Tens  of  thousands  of  barrels  of  oil  covered  the 
surface  of  th    river  from  shore  to  shore.     This  vast  amount  of  oil, 


PITHOLE  HOTEL  AND  LIVERY  CHARGES  XI 

as  it  floated  Pittsburgward,  made  the  Allegheny  one  great  river  of 
green. 

Old  Oil  City  settlers  will  bear  me  out  in  saying  that  the  young 
dudes  and  dudesses  of  the  far-famed  Hub  missed  one  of  the  great- 
est sights  that  falls  to  the  lot  of  mortals  to  behold  by  being  born 
too  late  to  see  an  Oil  Creek  oil  pond  freshet  And  now  here  is  where 
the  irrepressible  Tom  Hecker  comes  in  again.  When  Tom  saw 
that  so  much  beautiful  green  grease  had  got  away  from  the  owners 
he  improvised  a  small  dam  near  the  old  Moran  house,  gathered  a 
lot  of  barrels  on  short  notice  and,  as  oil  was  about  $10  a  barrel  at 
that  time,  he  cleared  about  $900  on  this  afternoon's  work. 

One  word  about  the  price  of  real  estate  in  those  muddy  times. - 
The  Hon.  William  Hasson  offered  to  sell  to  me  one  quarter  of  an 
acre  of  land  where  the  post  office  now  stands  for  $200.  I  could 
have  borrowed  the  money  and  paid  for  it,  but  my  dim  vision  could 
see  nothing  in  it.  My  neighbors,  J.  C.  and  D.  Mead,  took  the  ven- 
ture and  paid  the  $200,  built  the  very  substantial  ''Mead  hotel," 
which  cost  them  the  sum  of  $500.  They  sold  out  in  a  year  for 
$5000,.  While  they  were  building  their  hotel  the  Mead  brothers 
urged  me  to  take  the  quarter  acre  lot  adjoining  their  hotel  lot  at 
$200,  but  my  business  capacity  was  not  equal  to  the  occasion,  and 
I  never  became  an  Oil  City  lot  owner. 


CHAPTER  I\. 

PITHOLE  HOTEL  AND  LIVERY  CHARGES. 

A  tew  words  about  teaming.  The  word  teaming  meanr  some- 
thing when  Oil  City  was  a  shanty  town.  The  soft  alluvial  soil  on 
the  Hasson  flats  was  good  material  to  form  mortar  beds  of,  when 
nothing  could  be  moved  without  that  faithful  servant  of  man — the 
horse — and  as  business  boomed  to  such  an  extent  that  thousands 
of  horses  were  needed  to  keep  things  moving,  the  flats  soon  be- 
came, in  a  rainy  time,  one  mammoth  mudhole. 

Now,  to  illustrate  things,  and  to  give  the  modern  reader  a 
slight  idea  of  the  cost  of  doing  things  at  the  time  of  which  I  write 
I  will  give  an  account  of  my  first  oil  venture.  I  was  taken  in  as  a 
partner  of  J.  C.  &  D.  Mead,  to  operate  a  lease  on  Cherry  run, 
about  a  half  mile  above  Rousevifle.  I  owned  a  quarter  interest 
and  was  unanimously  elected  superintendent.  Well,  to  make  a 
long  story  short;  the  first  well  was  finished  at  a  cQ§\of  abou\$9,000. 


12  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

The  reader  may  think  that  there  was  mismanagement  on  the  part 
of  the  superintendent  in  running  up  such  a  bill  as  that  in  putting 
down  one  well  in  ''shallow  territory."  After  an  explanation,  the 
reader  will  think  different.  The  teaming  was  the  great  factor  in 
the  big  expense  account.  In  the  first  place,  a  boiler  was  drawn  onto 
the  ground  by  four  span  of  horses,  at  $18  a  span.  Then  after  try- 
ing to  drill  a  few  weeks,  the  fact  leaked  out  that  there  were  not 
enough  flues  inside  the  boiler  and  the  old  sawlog-shaped  thing 
was  hustled  aside  and  a  new  $2,000  boiler  put  in  its  place.  This 
last  venture  was  satisfactory.  That  high  priced  boiler  was  equal 
to  the  task  of  making  the  steam  to  keep  the  unweildy  old  second- 
hand engine  in  motion.  But  now  let  us  look  again  at  the  cost  of 
this  $9,000  job.  Here  is  where  the  text  ''teaming"  comes  in 
again.  This  big  boiler  would  not  boil  without  heat,  and  to  make' 
heat  wood  or  coal  was  required,  and  as  wood  was  about  $5  a  cord 
delivered,  we  used  coal.  Cranberry  coal.  From  the  mines  to  our 
oil  well  was  one  great  river  of  very  stiff  mud.  This  coal  was  hauled 
on  wagons,  to  which  was  hitched  three  span  of  horses,  and  we  paid 
the  very  modest  little  price  of  $1.25  per  bushel.  The  owners  of 
the  coal  were  not  unreasonable  in  charging  what  seems,  in  these 
days  of  railroads,  a  big  steal.  The  sellers  of  this  coal  were  fair 
dealers.  They  could  not  get  the  coal  out  of  the  crude  Cranberry 
mines  and  haul  it  through  this  deep  mud  as  fast  as  the  green  oper- 
ators would  take  it  at  $1.25  per  bushel.  Well,  the  reader  can  see, 
without  glasses,  that  this  kind  of  work  kept  up  for  several  weeks, 
with  the  little  light  tools  of  those  days,  could  very  easily  reach 
the  $9,000  mark.  Scientific  operators  of  today  will  wonder 
whether  this  company  of  Mead  &  Brown  came  off  winners  or  losers. 
The  answer  is  neither.  Oil  was  $3.50  per  barrel  and  the  well  pan- 
ned Out  about  25  barrels  a  day,  and  kept  up  this  production  until 
the  company  sold  out  and  were  neither  winners  nor  losers,  from  a 
financial  standpoint.  But  in  an  educational  point  of  view,  the 
company  were  the  gainers.  They  came  off  with  a  few  hundred 
dollars'  worth  of  experience. 

Another  leaf  from  my  own  experience  will  help  along  with  this 
article  with  "teaming"  for  the  text. 

Mead  &  Co.  (which  means  ourself  and  Nelson  Mead,  now  of 
Corydon,  Pa.,)  leased  a  building  lot  on  a  back  street  at  Pithole 
City  and  built  a  store  house,  of  the  rough  order,  on  said  lot.  We 
were  obliged  to  flatboat  our  lumber  and  material  down  the  Alle- 
gheny from  Irvineton  to  McCray's  Landing,  a  noted  commercial 
point  at  that  time.  From  the  landing  to  Pithole  City,  four  miles, 
w^  found  a  typical  oil  country  mudhole.     We  (Mead  &  Co.)  paid 


GEN.  BURNSIDFS  RAILROAD  13 

$20  per  thousand  to  have  our  lumber  hauled  and  delivered  on  our 
speculative  building  lot.  The  store  room  went  up  with  a  rush,  at 
a  cost  of  $800.  When  completed  we  were  offered  $1800  for  the 
building.  We  wanted  $2000  for  it.  Our  cutsomer  wanted  us  to 
give  him  three  days  to  think  about  it.  We  gave  the  time.  At  the 
end  of  three  days  he  had  dropped  $800  and  offered  us  $1,000.  After 
a  hurried  consultation,  Mead  &  Co.  concluded  that  at  this  rate  of 
dropping  off,  it  would  not  take  a  very  long  time  to  get  below  cost. 
So  we  closed  the  bargain,  content  with  $200  profit  on  our  venture. 
Our  customer  gave  us  $650  cash  down  and  a  bank  note  due  in  30 
days  for  $350.  At  the  end  of  30  days  when  Mead  &  Co.  called  at 
the  then  waning  oil  metropolis,  our  customer  wanted  to  give  us  the 
property  for  the  $350  note.  As  we  were  not  anxious  to  buy  Pit- 
hole  City  property  on  the  declining  valuation,  we  refused  the  gen- 
erous offer,  and  called  on  the  bank  and  drew  our  $850.  Mead  & 
Co.  were  not  a  grasping  corporation  and  their  kind  hearts  could 
not  be  brought  to  the  point  of  taking  a  $1 ,000  property  for  $350. 

To  show  the  reader  that  horseback  riding  was  a  luxury  those 
days,  to  be  paid  for  as  well  as  teaming,  I  will  say  I  hired  a  little  bit 
of  horseflesh,  with  a  saddle  on,  one  day,  during  my  business  career 
in  Pithole,  for  the  purpose  of  riding  four  miles,  to  McCray's  Land- 
ing and  return.  \\  hen  the  trip  was  finished,  the  liveryman,  who 
was  not  stopping  at  Pithole  for  his  health,  charged  me  $5.  I  told 
the  dealer  in  horses  that  I  did  not  intend  to  buy  the  horse,  but 
only  to  pay  for  the  use  of  it  about  two  hours.  A  glance  at  the 
man's  face  showed  that  he  meant  business  and  I  handed  over  the 
fiver  without  further  protest.  \\  hen  I  took  into  consideration  the 
fact  that  I  had,  that  very  morning,  paid  75  cents  to  a  hotel  man 
for  sleeping  in  a  haymow  in  a  barn,  without  even  a  blanket,  I  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  the  liveryman  was  quite  reasonable  in  his 
charges,  and  was  only  keeping  abreast  of  the  times. 


CHAPTER  V. 

GEN.  BURNSIDE'S  RAILROAD. 

The  young  citizens  and  part  of  the  old,  of  Oil  City,  while  enjoy- 
ing the  blessings  of  four  railroads,  may  not  know  the  difficulty 
under  which  outside  capitalists  labored  in  bringing  the  present 
state  of  affairs  about.  1  well  remember  that  when  the  Atlantic  & 
Great  Western  built  a  branch  of  their  road  from  Mead ville  to  Reno, 


14  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

the  management  found  themselves  "up  a  stump"  when  reacning 
the  sacred  precincts  of  the  "Hub."  The  "city  fathers"  would  not 
let  a  noisy  and  smoky  railroad  come  into  the  golden  "streets"  of 
Oil  City.  The  muddy  streets  and  the  creek  and  river  were  good 
enough  for  them.  Besides,  there  was  "no  room  on  the  narrow 
flats  for  railroad  tracks."  The  city  of  Reno  was  not  quite  large 
enough  for  a  great  railroad  terminus,  so  a  railroad  was  built  from 
Reno  to  Plumer.  The  city  of  Plumer  was  the  terminus.  Oil 
City,  with  its  short  sighted  and  high-toned  council  was  left  out  in 
the  cold.  I  had  the  pleasure  of  riding  from  Franklin  to  Plumer 
several  times  on  this  picturesque  and  expensive  railroad.  I  am 
not  exactly  sure  as  to  the  distance  from  Reno  to  Plumer,  but  I 
think  it  was  about  16  miles.  This  is  not  as  the  crows  fly,  but  as 
the  surveyors  laid  out  the  road.  The  route  ran  toward  Dempsey- 
town  for  several  miles,  when  the  top  of  the  mountain  was  reached. 
Here  a  station  was  built,  and  a  prospective  town  laid  out  in  lots 
(Oil  City  speculators  did  not  tumble  over  each  other  to  buy  lots) ; 
then  down  grade  for  a  few  more  miles  brought  the  road  over 
dangerous  looking  trestles  plump  into  McClintockville,  then  up 
through  Rouseville  and  on  up  Cherry  Run  to  Plumer,  the  terminus 
of  the  only  railroad  in  this  great  oil  region. 

Coming  down  the  mountain  side  from  the  direction  of  Dempsey- 
town  to  McClintockville,  a  passenger  could  get  a  peep  at  a  part  of 
Oil  City.  The  part  that  could  be  seen  seemed  to  almost  hide  its 
head  in  shame  at  the  thought  that  Reno,  Dempseytown,  McClint- 
ockville, Rouseville,  Cherry  Run,  the  Humboldt  refinery  and 
Plumer  could  have  a  railroad,  but  the  greasy,  busy  hub  of  oildom 
could  not  have  one.  The  city  council  and  everybody  else  were 
obliged  to  get  out  of  the  city  on  a  raft,  flat  boat,  wagon,  horseback 
or  afoot,  while  Plumerites  could  take  a  seat  for  New  York  or  any 
city,  on  a  soft  cushion  in  a  railway  passenger  coach.  Of  course  the 
haughty  citizen  of  Plumer  was  obliged  to  "change  cars"  at  Reno, 
from  the  standard  guage  to  the  (then  )six-foot  guage  of  the  Atlantic 
&  Great  Western.  But  what  of  that?  Could  they  not  glide  down 
Cherry  Run  and  up  through  several  townships  over  the  mountain 
to  Reno,  with  the  serene  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  poor  little 
Oil  City  had  no  railroad  connection  with  the  outer  world?  Well, 
the  reader  may  say," Who  w^as  so  short  sighted  as  to  build  a  road 
with  such  grades,  when  Oil  City,  with  its  commanding  location, 
was  sure  to  become  quite  a  railroad  center  in  no  great  length  of 
time,  regardless  of  near-sighted  rulers?"  I  cannot  answer  that 
question — I  can  say  that  a  man  of  great  renown  was  president  of 
the  Plumer  road. 


GEN.  BURNSIDE'S  RAILROAD  16 

The  only  time  that  1  ever  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  General 
Burnside  was  when  he  was  seated  on  a  pile  of  ties,  on  a  flat  car,  or 
gondola,  making  strenuous  efforts  to  get  over  the  road,  of  which  he 
was  president.  Two  of  these  flat  cars,  partly  loaded  with  ties, 
were  hitched  to  a  fine,  new  locomotive.  Three  times  the  start 
was  made  from  Reno,  and  three  times  these  two  cars  were  backed 
down  to  the  junction  at  Reno,  for  a  new  start,  after  having  labored 
up  the  mountain  side  a  mile  or  two.  The  fourth  time  the  summit 
was  gained,  up  among  the  Venango  county  farms,  and  the  great 
general  soon  found  himself  and  directors  flying  down  over  the  dan- 
gerous looking  gullies  to  the  raging  Oil  Creek.  I  never  heard  the 
general's  report  after  this  patient  ride,  but  very  likely  it  was  not 
very  encouraging  to  the  stockholders  of  his  oil  country  railroad. 

Speaking  of  Plumer  railroads  reminds  me  of  the  old  Pithole 
railroad.  This  was  a  six-foot  guage,  and  it  came  to  the  very  doors 
of  Plumer.  Little  can  be  said  of  this  road,  only  that  it  was  built 
from  the  mouth  of  Pithole  creek  to  the  mushroom  town  of  a  few 
month's  duration,  Pithole  City.  When  the  city  moved  out  the 
railroad  moved  out  also.  Plumer  was  tapped  on  both  sides  by 
new  railroads,  but  they  did  not  stick.  Just  imagine  passenger 
trains  running  four  trips  a  day  from  Pithole  City  to  the  mouth  of 
Pithole  creek.  It  is  not  likely  that  one  passenger  a  day  would  pass 
over  the  road  at  the  present  time.  The  superintendent  of  the  road, 
Blair,  for  many  years  superintendent  of  the  Shenango  road,  kindly 
gave  me  a  free  pass  over  the  four-mile  road,  but  it  ceased  operation 
before  I  had  an  opportunity  to  use  it,  and  the  pass  died  on  my 
hands.  Before  closing  this  No.  5  chapter,  I  wish  to  give  the  busi- 
ness youth  of  to-day  a  hint  in  regard  to  the  cost  of  doing  business 
in  those  days.  I  bought  a  quarter  interest  in  one  acre  of  oil  land 
at  Pithole,  on  which  some  men  were  trying  to  put  down  a  well  with 
a  spring  pole.  In  other  words,  they  were  trying  to  ''kick  it  down." 
I  did  not  know  the  exact  location  of  my  purchase,  so  I  hied  me 
away  to  Franklin  to  get  a  view  of  the  docket.  I  found  the  clerk 
in  the  register  and  recorder's  office  and  made  known  my  business 
to  him.  I  wished  to  copy  the  lease.  The  clerk  was  driven  with 
business.  Ke  was  flying  around  in  a  great  hurry.  He  said,  ''Can 
you  give  me  the  day  of  the  month  and  the  year  when  this  lease 
was  recorded?"  I  told  him  I  could  give  the  year  but  I  had 
not  the  month  and  day.  He  said  "I  can't  find  it  with  that 
direction,  but  if  you  will  give  me  $50  I  wifl  try  to  find  it."  As  I 
had  no  $50  bifl  in  my  vest  pocket  at  that  certain  time  and  as 
I  had  more  time  to  fool  away  than  the  clerk  seemed  to  have,  I  ask- 
ed for  a  loan  of  his  index  for  a  short  time.      He  rather  reluctantly 


l6  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

handed  me  the  desired  book  and  within  the  next  50  minutes  I  had 
a  copy  of  the  Pithole  lease  and  felt  somewhat  as  if  I  had  done  $50 
worth  of  business  in  just  50  minutes.  Court  house  tips  those  days 
were  worth  looking  after. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

JAMES  S.  McCRAY. 

This  article  will  treat  upon  Petroleum  centre  when  it  was  a  sec- 
ond Pithole  City.  You  readers,  who  have  not  been  an  eye  witness 
to  the  lively  scenes  that  1  am  about  to  relate,  have  heard  more  or 
less  about  ancient  Petroleum  Centre.  The  wayfarer,  in  passing 
the  quiet  little  hamlet  now  on  a  swift  running  W.  N.  Y.  &  P.  train, 
don't  see  the  surging,  bustling,  mixed-up  masses  of  humanity  that 
once  thronged  the  streets.  Your  oldest  readers  will,  perhaps, 
remember  that  about  the  time  Pithole  City  made  such  a  sudden 
fizzle.  Petroleum  Centre  dawned  on  the  oil  country  scene  like  a 
meteor.  The  Maple  Shade  well  and  Coquette  well,  flowing  their 
thousands  of  barrels  per  day  of  high  priced  oil,  set  the  whole  oil 
country  wild,  and  soon  the  town  of  half  a  hundred  had  a  popula- 
tion that  ran  into  thousands,  and  what  kind  of  a  population  was 
it?  Well,  that  is  a  hard  question  to  answer.  It  was  composed  of 
all  classes,  from  the  murderer  to  the  minister  of  the  gospel.  The 
thugs,  gamblers  and  soiled  doves  were  in  the  majority.  About 
200  of  the  latter  came  down  from  the  fast  waning  Pithole  City  and 
took  up  their  abode  in  Petroleum  Centre's  dance  houses,  of  which 
there  were  about  a  half  dozen,  free  and  easies  and  other  "houses." 
The  male  population  was  but  little  better  than  the  female  and 
Petroleum  Centre  was  a  "daisy  town."  Murder  was  among  the 
crimes  committed  here  and  the  lesser  felonies  can  never  be  enum- 
erated. Still,  many  good  Christian  people  found  themselves  sur- 
rounded by  this  wicked  population.  Three  churches  went  up  like 
magic.  Methodist  Episcopal,  Presbyterian  and  Catholic  churches; 
also  a  very  creditable  school  building.  I  will  speak  in  particular 
of  the  Presbyterian  church  as  I  took  the  contract  of  building  it. 
The  late  James  S.  McCray,  who,  when  alive,  was  known  to  every 
oil  operator  from  Allegany,  N.  Y.,  to  Lima,  O.,  was  chairman  of 
the  building  committee.  "Jim,"  as  all  called  him,  had  a  little  in- 
come of  $5  a  minute,  night  and  day,  Sundays  and  all,  from  his 
hillside  farm,  circulated  a  subscription  paper  to  raise  $6,500,  the 


JAMES  S.  McGRAY  17 

cost  of  the  church.  Dr.  Egbert  headed  the  list  with  $1,000  and 
'^Jim"  followed  with  a  like  amount  and  two  others,  whose  names 
have  gone  from  my  memory,  came  down  with  four  figures,  and  in 
less  than  a  day  the  whole  amount  was  raised.  McCray  collected 
the  money  as  he  went  along,  and  took  it  home  with  him  the  same 
night,  put  it  under  the  pillow  of  his  brother-in-law  for  safe  keeping, 
but  one  or  more  of  Petroleum  Centre's  crooks  slipped  a  little  chloro- 
form in  through  the  window  and  slipped  the  great  wad  of  green- 
backs out,  and  in  the  morning  nothing  but  a  strong  smell  of  chloro- 
form and  a  very  sick  brother-in  law  was  found  in  the  room. 

The  thieves  had  a  gay  time  among  the  dance  houses  on  this 
church  money,  and  "Jim''  paid  for  the  church  from  his  own  pocket 
with  as  good  grace  as  could  be  expected.  His  time,  at  the  period 
I  speak  of,  was  so  much  taken  up  in  looking  after  his  big  income 
that  he  let  the  matter  drop,  after  just  a  little  ineffectual  scolding. 

I  mention  just  an  incident  or  two  that  will  show  up  the  oddities 
of  this  sometime  millionaire.  (This  is  the  amount  that  he  could 
have  placed  his  farm  in  a  stock  for  at  one  time.)  During  the 
period  of  two  months  while  my  carpenters  were  building  the 
church,  Jim  frequently  invited  me  to  accompany  him  to  his  home, 
nearly  a  mile  from  town,  on  the  mountain  slope.  I  often  accepted 
his  hospitality.  (He  was  a  second  cousin  of  mine  and  a  very 
cheerful  relative.)  On  a  very  dark  night  on  one  of  these  trips, 
as  we  wended  our  way  up  through  the  woods,  we  were  a  little 
alarmed  by  hearing  a  pistol  shot  a  few  rods  ahead  of  us.  We  nat- 
urally thought  that  as  there  were  but  two  of  us  and  four  of  them 
that  we  would  get  the  worst  of  it,  if  that  pistol  shot  meant  war  on 
us.  We  were  somewhat  relieved  in  mind  when  we  met  the  four 
men,  and  they  passed  along  without  paying  the  least  attention  to 
the  man  of  money.  We  never  knew  who  the  men  were  or  what 
caused  the  pistol  shot.  When  we  were  fairly  away  from  the  men 
and  by  the  sound  of  their  voices  were  convinced  that  they  were  at 
a  safe  distance  Mr.  McCray  gave  vent  to  his  feelings  in  the  follow- 
ing words :"I  wish  there  had  never  been  a  drop  of  oil  found  on  Oil 
Creek.  I  can't  sleep  nights.  My  dog  makes  a  fearful  fuss  nearly 
every  night,  as  if  some  prowlers  were  about.  And  I  can't  come  up 
through  these  brush  without  expecting  a  club  over  my  head, 
handled  by  some  of  these  wretches  who  would  murder  me  for  my 
money."  After  we  had  safely  reached  his  fireside  I  mentioned  his 
big  income  from  his  400-barrel  wells,  and  oil  at  $3.00  per  barrel. 
Jim  took  his  pencil  and  figured  a  while,  then  he  said:  ''My  in- 
come is  $5.00  a  minute;  if  I  had  figured  on  this  before  we  left  town  I 
would  have  hired  a  livery  rig  to  bring  us  up."     The  next  morning 


18  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM 

I  was  out  of  bed  at  quite  an  early  hour.  About  sunrise — before 
breakfast — casting  my  eyes  in  the  direction  of  one  of  Mr.  McCray's 
many  meadows,  I  saw  a  wagon  load  of  hay  coming  toward  the  barn 
and  Jim  was  walking  along  behind  the  load  with  a  pitchfork  on  his 
shoulder.  He  had  glanced  out  of  his  sleeping  room,  at  daybreak, 
and  saw  clouds  gathering;  then  he  hustled  his  hired  man  to 
the  fields  with  a  wagon  and  horses  to  save  a  load  of  hay  that  was 
liable  to  get  spoiled  if  rain  came.  He  pitched  the  load  on  the 
wagon  himself.  At  another  time  I  found  him  in  one  of  his  fields, 
in  his  shirt  sleeves,  digging  green  sprouts  away  from  the  oak 
stumps.  He  was  covered  with  perspiration,  and  almost  breath- 
lessly, he  told  me  that  he  had  been  ''making  fence  and  digging 
sprouts  for  two  weeks,  and  was  not  quite  done  with  the  job  yet. 
At  this  time  he  said:  ''I  have  100,000  barrels  of  oil,  and  I  am  of- 
fered $4.50  per  barrel.  I  have  it  in  tanks,  and  I  will  hold  it  until  it 
sweats  through  the  iron  before  I  take  less  than  $5  a  barrel  for  it." 
He  afterward  sold  it  for  $1.12  a  barrel,  when  much  of  it  had  been 
wasted  by  leakage  and  evaporation.  There  was  only  one  James 
S.  McCray.  Of  all  the  Oil  Creek  and  other  farm  owners  who  were 
suddenly  made  rich  by  the  oil  business  none  were  better  known, 
and  none  were  more  honest  and  upright  in  their  dealings  with  all. 
His  word  was  as  good  as  his  bond. 

And  now,  ''one  on  myself"  will  not  be  out  of  place.  When  gett- 
ing the  lumber  on  the  ground  for  this  church  I  found  much  diffi- 
culty. No  railroad  passed  through  Petroleum  Centre  at  that  time. 
The  framing  timber  of  the  church  had  to  be  rafted  and  floated  to 
Oil  City,  then  towed  with  horses  up  Oil  creek  to  Petroleum  Centre. 
The  lumber  was  billed  to  Pioneer,  a  mile  above  Petroleum  Centre. 
Then  came  the  rub,  to  get  this  lumber  down  the  creek  through  mud 
to  the  hubs  of  the  wagon.  A  construction  train  was  at  work  build- 
ing a  side-track  on  the  Boyd  farm,  across  the  creek  opposite  Pe- 
troleum Centre.  I  slipped  a  $20  bill  into  the  hand  of  the  conductor 
of  the  construction  train  and  bribed  him  to  hitch  three  lumber  cars 
to  the  rear  of  his  gravel  train  and  pull  them  down  that  mile.  As 
there  was  no  side-track  at  Boyd  farm  I  got  men  enough  to  unload 
my  lumber  as  quick  as  the  railroad  employees  unloaded  the  gravel 
car.  Thus,  the  conductor  got  his  $20  and  did  not  lose  one  minute 
of  time.  Twenty  dollars  was  a  "right  smart"  price  for  handling 
one  coupling  pin,  but  I  saved  about  $50  by  the  transaction.  But 
the  reader  has  not  seen  the  "one  on  myself"  yet.  Here  it  is:  All 
this  business  kept  me  in  this  wicked  town  a  part  of  the  time.  I 
stopped  at  the  American  hotel — a  very  good  oil  country  hotel, 
that  has  long  since  disappeared.     One  night  a  dance  was  given  for 


JAMES  S.  McGRAY  19 

the  benefit  of  the  guests.  The  music  was  furnished  by  one  of  the 
dance  house  bands;  three  nice  looking  and  very  excellent  musi- 
cians made  the  melody  for  the  occasion.  I  was  something  of  a 
violinist  those  days,  and  I  played  a  few  sets  to  rest  these  musicians, 
while  they  took  a  whirl  at  the  "giddy  mazes  of  the  dance."  Those 
three  young  men  said  they  were  not  of  the  class  that  danced  after 
their  music,  but  they  were  far  from  home  and  were  getting  as 
much  out  of  their  accomplishments  as  possible,  but  that  they 
would  be  very  sorry  to  let  their  mothers,  away  in  the  east,  know 
the  quality  of  their  employers.  I  had  no  right  to  doubt  their  word 
and  don't  now.  Now  comes  the  joke.  The  next  evening  I  was 
passing  along  the  busy  street  and  those  melodious  strains  of  music 
of  the  night  before  floated  into  my  ears  through  the  open  door  of 
a  ''dance  house.''  I  promised  myself,  when  a  boy,  to  never  enter 
one  of  these  places,  and  never  had  broken  my  promise.  I  could 
see  my  virtuous  friends  making  music  with  piano,  horn  and  violin 
and  felt  like  speaking  to  them.  I  stood  for  a  few  moments  unde- 
cided. Just  two  nights  before  that  time  a  man  had  been  shot  and 
killed  in  a  ''dance  hall"  a  little  farther  up  the  street.  My  thoughts 
told  me  that  if  I  should  go  in  there,  and  break  my  promise,  if  any- 
body would  be  shot  it  would  be  me.  But  for  all  this  the  music  got 
the  best  of  me,  and  I  stepped  in  and  greeted  my  newly -made  mus- 
ical friends.  I  was  immediately  asked  to  take  the  violin  and  "play 
a  set."  Well,  I  thought  I  could  not  get  much  lower,  so  I  took  the 
proffered  instrument  and  led  off,  and  disgraced  the  best  quadrille 
I  knew.  While  the  music  of  my  violin  floated  on  the  air,  very 
much  scented,  assisted  by  the  skiilful  manipulations  of  the  piano 
and  cornet,  my  mind  was  busy.  It  was  more  troubled  than  ever 
was  Dr.  Parkhurst  when  visiting  such  places.  Just  as  I  was  think- 
ing that  if  I  should  be  shot  and  carried  home  to  my  wife  a  corpse 
the  history  of  the  occurrence  in  the  newspapers  would  not  be  grati- 
fying to  my  relatives,  a  big  fight  took  place,  and  one  man  was 
knocked  down  and  I  could  hear  the  blood  spilling  and  gurgling 
from  his  wounds.  The  dancing  girls  came  running  back,  dodging 
behind  the  piano,  crying  out,  "They  will  shoot!  they  will  shoot!" 
Then  I  thought  my  time  had  come  to  atone  for  breaking  my  prom- 
ise to  myself.  And  as  the  piano  legs  were  not  large  enough  to  pro- 
tect the  dancers  and  musicians,  both,  I  opened  a  door  behind  the 
music  stand,  not  knowing  where  it  led  to,  and  stepped  out  into 
God's  pure  air.  By  a  flank  movement  I  got  around  to  the  front 
street  and  to  my  hotel,  with  a  new  promise  to  myself,  that  as  this 
was  the  first  "dance  hall"  visited  by  me  it  would  also  be  the  last, 
and  I  have  kept  the  promise. 


20  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  GRANDINS  AND  J.  B.  WHITE. 

I  want  to  say  something  about  the  Grandins  and  J.  B.  White. 
The  Grandins,  aided  by  their  immense  amount  of  cash,  always 
turned  what  at  first  promises  to  be  a  losing  game  into  piles  of 
money.  Here  is  an  instance :  A  few  years  ago  they  sent  the  Hon. 
J.  B.  White  of  Youngs ville,  into  the  state  of  Missouri  to  buy  yellow 
pine  timberland.  Mr.  White  was  as  full  of  energy  ''as  an  egg  is  full 
of  meat,"  and  ere  long  he  had  a  deed  for  about  70,000  acres  of  land 
nicely  covered  with  a  fine  quality  of  yellow  pine.  Then,  under  the 
superintendency  of  Mr.  White,  an  immense  mill  was  built,  and 
millions  of  feet  of  lumber  manufactured.  But  this  lumber  had  to 
be  drawn  on  wagons  over  10  miles  to  reach  a  railroad.  Under  the 
circumstances  the  cost  almost  kept  pace  with  the  income.  And 
now  comes  the  point  where  their  capital  came  into  good  play. 
They  took  a  large  amount  of  stock  in  a  projected  railroad  and  in- 
sured the  building  of  it.  The  road  ran  27  miles  through  their  pine 
timber.  I  was  told  by  one  of  the  brothers  that  now  they  made  a 
profit  of  $8  per  thousand  on  their  lumber,  and  each  dollar  counts 
$1,000,000  on  the  whole  lot.  In  other  words,  $1  per  thousand 
makes  a  million  dollars  on  the  estimated  amount  of  their  timber. 
They  will  make  $8,000,000  on  a  transaction  that  would  have  brok- 
en 20  men  without  capital.  The  old  saying  that  ''it  takes  money 
to  make  money,"  is  fully  proved  here.  Another  novelty  in  their 
way  of  doing  business  will  no  doubt  be  interesting  to  many  of  my 
readers.  In  their  travels  all  over  the  United  States  they  never 
kept  an  expense  account.  The  late  Adna  Neyhart,  their  brother- 
in-law,  the  gentleman  who  first  introduced  the  business  of  trans- 
porting oil  in  tank  cars,  was  a  partner  of  the  three  Grandin  brothers. 
Neither  of  the  quartette  ever  wasted  ink  and  paper  by  keeping 
track  of  travelling  expenses  when  abroad.  Each  had  perfect  con- 
fidence in  all  the  others. 

Now  I  will  finish  this  article  by  a  couple  of  allusions  to  a  couple 
of  quite  noted  men.  The  first  is  ex-Senator  James  McMuUen. 
I'll  tell  you  how  he  commenced  his  career  in  oildom.  "Jim,"  as 
he  was  familiarly  called  years  ago,  was  quite  an  expert  blacksmith 
at  Warren,  Pa.  When  the  great  oil  strikes  set  the  whole  country 
nearly  crazy  Jim  packed  his  kit  of  blacksmith  tools  and  his  house- 
hold goods  and  made  good  time  on  a  raft  to  Oil  City.  The  author 
of   this  book   was  at  that  time  second  mate  on  a  flat  boat, 


THE  GRANDINS  AND  J.  B.  WHITE  21 

which  was  propelled  by  very  much  jaded  horses  up  and  down  the 
raging  waters  of  Oil  Creek.  As  there  were  no  roads  to  speak  of  and 
mud  galore  the  early  pioneers  in  oildom  were  only  too  glad  to  avail 
themselves  of  this  greasy  mode  of  transportation.  Jim  McMullen 
was  among  the  number  that  piled  their  ''fittin^'  on  the  bottom  of 
our  greasy  oil  boat.  We  landed  the  goods  safely,  but  not  clean 
enough  to  brag  on,  at  McClintockville,  where  Jim  had  built  a  rude 
blacksmith  shop  and  dwelling  house.  About  the  first  thing  attend- 
ed to  was  a  ''house  warming."  Then  the  musical  ability  of  the 
''second  mate'*  was  brought  mto  play.  He,  with  the  assistance  of 
another  music  murderer,  reeled  off  the  "Opera  Reel,''  "Money 
Musk,"  "Crooked  S,"  "Chase  the  Squirrel,"  and  other  scientific 
pieces  of  niusic  all  night  long  for  the  lads  and  lassies  of  the  then 
busy  McClintockville,  while  putting  in  their  biggest  licks  in  the 
way  of  dancing  "hoedowns."  Music  sailed  around  through  the 
air  in  that  hemlock  shanty  in  great  chunks.  Music  from  Cole- 
man's orchestra  would  dwindle  down  into  nothing  compared  to 
ours.  Well,  all  my  Oil  City  readers  will  know  that  genuine 
genius  cannot  be  kept  in  a  hemlock  blacksmith  shop  and  "Jim" 
rose  rapidly. 

The  first  time  I  had  the  pleasure  of  looking  at  "Johnny"  Steele 
was  at  Rouse ville,  after  he  had  "bio wed  in"  his  million  and  a  half 
dollars.  He  was  seated  on  a  high  spring  seat  of  an  oil  wagon, 
driving  a  black  team  of  horses.  The  wagon  was  loaded  with  bar- 
rels filled  with  crude  oil.  Johnny  was  complacently  smoking  a 
cigar.  At  that  time  I  was  a  correspondent  of  the  Erie  Morning 
Dispatch.  I  wrote  him  up.  The  item  raised  Johnny's  "dander," 
but  he  did  not  know  who  to  vent  his  wrath  upon.  A  few  months 
after  that  Johnny  was  the  trusted  baggagemaster  of  the  Oil  Creek 
railroad.  One  day  Conductor  "Pap"  Richards  said  to  me:  "I 
wish  you  would  interview  John  and  set  him  right  in  the  Dispatch. 
There  are  so  many — exaggerated  reports  going  the  rounds  of  the 
newspapers  that  he  is  terribly  annoyed.  Tell  him  that  I  sent  you 
to  him."  I  called  upon  the  baggagemaster,  introduced  myself 
according  to  Conductor  Richard's  instructions.  Johnny  opened 
up  in  dead  earnest.  His  talk,  as  near  as  I  can  recollect,  ran  in  this 
wise:  "I  will    give  you  all  the  information  that  you  ask,  but  it 

makes  me  mad  to  see  the  d d  fool  reports  in  the  papers.     A 

d-^ d  fool  wrote  me  up  last  spring  in  the  Erie  Dispatch.     He 

said  I  was  hauling  oil  in  a  black  greasy  wagon,  with  a  cigar  in  my 

mouth  and  a  lot  of  other  fool  trash.     D n  him,  he  was  drunk 

all  the  time  he  was  here — if  ever  I  get  sight  of  him  I'll  trash  him." 
J  did  not  feel  like  telling^Johnny  that  I  never  was  drunk  in  my  life, 


22  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

for  the  very  good  reason  that  I  never  took  a  drink  of  that  which 
intoxicates.  So  I  let  him  remain  in  ignorance  as  to  who  the  Dis- 
patch correspondent  was.  And  now,  to  make  this  article  not  too 
lengthy,  I  will  briefly  give  Steele's  story: 

"I  will  give  you  the  correct  statement  for  the  Dispatch.  The 
newspapers  throughout  the  country  have  been  saying  that  I  hired 
a  fine  carriage  in  Philadelphia  for  a  ride  and  when  I  returned  to 
my  hotel  I  bought  the  whole  outfit  and  presented  it  to  the  driver. 
And  on  another  occasion  I  rented  the  Continental  hotel  for  one 
day — paying  $10,000  as  rental.  The  papers  told  too  many  other 
foolish  stories  about  me  to  repeat  here.  I  will  simply  say  that 
these  reports  are  all  false.  The  cause  of  the  disappaarance  of  my 
fortune  in  so  short  a  time  was  sharpers  taking  advantage  of  my 
inexperience.  They  cleaned  me  out  before  I  was  aware  of  the  fact. 
(At  this  point  in  his  recital  Johnny  gave  the  names  of  some  of  the 
rogues  that  robbed  him — I  will  omit  their  names.)  After  my 
large  fortune  was  gone  I  made  a  solemn  resolve,  in  my  own  mind, 
to  be  a  frugal  and  industrious  man  the  rest  of  my  natural  life.  I 
have  kept  this  self-made  promise,  and  during  the  past  few  years  I 
have  paid  for  a  home,  paid  for  a  team  and  outfit  and  I  have  a  snug 
little  bank  account.  I  intend  to  reclaim  a  small  part  of  my  lost 
fortune  and  all  of  my  good  name." 

While  Mr.  Steele  was  talking  he  impressed  me  favorably.  His 
whole  demeanor  showed  very  plainly  that  he  was  no  ordinary  man. 
And  his  words  and  every  action  proved  this.  He  was  a  faithful 
and  favorite  employee  of  the  Oil  Creek  railroad  when  it  required  a 
good  and  competent  man  to  attend  to  the  business  of  baggage- 
master  at  the  then  busy  Rouse ville  depot.  I  was  told  that  he  had 
secured  a  more  lucrative  and  important  situation  on  some  western 
railroad.  There  never  was  but  one  ''Coal  Oil  Johnny"  on  the  face 
of  the  earth.  Who  ever  heard  of  a  young  man  getting  away  with 
$1,500,000  in  a  couple  of  years,  and  then  that  same  young  man 
settling  down  immediately  to  the  hard,  solid  knocks  of  a  poor  man's 
life  and  becoming  an  industrious,  trusted  model  man  of  business 
and  integrity?  "Coal  Oil  Johnny"  is  both  a  novelty  and  an  enigma. 
We  may  search  the  wide  world  over  and  we  will  not  find  his  count- 
erpart. Surely  the  "old  times  in  oildom"  developed  some  odd 
characters.  Further  on  in  this  series  of  chapters  I  will  mention 
more  of  them. 


A  NARROW  ESCAPE  23 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

NARROW  ESCAPE  FROM  BEING  A  BLOATED 
BONDHOLDER. 

I'll  take  a  funny  subject  this  time.  Pll  take  my  own  exper- 
ience. I'll  tell  how  I  did  not  make  Scv^eral  fortunes.  The  first 
attempt  was  the  leasing  of  about  3,000  acres  of  ''dry  territory.'' 
I  was  at  Oil  City  at  the  time  the  dry  territory  excitement  started 
north.  When  it  reached  Pleasantville  I  betook  myself  to  my  home 
in  Youngsville,  Pa.,  where  I  began  to  lease  far  ahead  of  the  tidal 
wave.  I  wrote  my  contracts  somewhat  in  this  manner :  ''I  agree 
to  sell  my  farm  to  G.  W.  Brown,  of  Youngsville,  Pa.,  for  so  many 
dollars  per  acre,"  and  it  was  always  a  price  quite  low.  (The  land 
was  worth  fully  the  amount  named  for  farming  purposes.)  "Pro- 
vided said  Brown  pays  the  amount  within  three  months  from  date." 
I  picked  up  3,000  acres  within  a  couple  of  weeks,  and  rested  on  my 
laurels  and  waited  for  the  wave  to  come.  It  came,  and  soon  leasers 
were  promising  twice  as  much  as  I  had  promised  for  just  as  good 
land.  I  had  some  good  offers,  but  as  my  time  was  not  near  up, 
and  the  price  of  dry  territory  was  going  up  and  up,  I  held  on  for  the 
highest  notch.  I  finally  had  an  offer  by  which  I  could  pocket  a 
profit  of  about  $40,000.  I  concluded  to  strike  while  the  iron  was 
hot;  but  the  iron  did  not  stay  hot  quite  long  enough.  I'll  tell  why. 
When  I  made  the  sale,  I  found  that  I  must  locate  each  separate 
lot  on  the  Warren  County  map.  I  had  about  ten  days  to  drive 
around  and  make  my  locations.  During  these  ten  days,  Sherman 
took  Atlanta,  and  capitalists  made  up  their  minds  that  greenbacks 
were  better  than  dry  ''territory,"  and  the  bottom  fell  out  of  this 
kind  of  business.  I  paid  a  big  price  for  learning  that  "a  bird  in  the 
hand  is  worth  two  in  the  bush." 

My  second  lesson  was  somewhat  connected  with  the  first.  While 
contracting  the  3,000  acres  of  land,  spoken  of  above,  my  good  old 
friend,  Alden  Marsh,  came  to  me  and  said;  "George,  let  me  put  my 
100  acres  of  pine  land  into  your  deal.  I  will  let  you  have  an  option 
on  it  for  $1,600."  As  this  land  was  worth  double  this  amount,  I 
wrote  a  contract  immediately.  A  month  later  Mr.  Marsh  came  to 
me  with  another  remark,  which  ran  in  this  wise:  ' 'George,  I  let  you 
have  the  option  on  my  land  too  soon.  Now,  I  will  tell  you  what 
I  will  do.  I  will  give  you  100  acres  in  Cherry  Grove.  It  did  not 
cost  me  much.  I  bid  it  in  at  a  few  cents  an  acre  for  taxes  due,  and 
it  is  not  worth  anything.     I  will  give  it  to  you  if  you  will  give  up  my 


24  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

contract  for  the  100  acres  of  pine  land."  Mr.  Marsh  bless  his — 
memory — being  my  best  friend  in  a  business  way,  had  only  to  ask 
this  favor  to  get  it.  And  now  I  will  tell  you  where  the  trouble  came 
in.  I  thought,  with  Mr.  Marsh,  that  the  Cherry  Grove  land  was 
worth  nothing,  and  did  not  take  the  trouble  to  get  a  deed  made  out. 
Years  after  Mr.  Marsh  died  and  about  that  time  the  oil  excitement 
began  to  creep  toward  Cherry  Grove.  Then  it  was  that  I  asked 
Mr.  Marsh's  widow  about  this  land  of  mine.  Of  course,  Mrs. 
Marsh  knew  nothing  whatever  about  this  very  careless  land  trade, 
and  had  sold  the  land  for  $3  an  acre.  Not  very  long  after  this,  the 
great  "mystery,"  or  "646,"  was  struck,  and  upon  close  inquiry  I 
found  that  the  great  well  was  located  less  than  a  half  mile  from  my 
100  acres.  And  the  100  acres  that  I  didn't  own  was  worth  about 
$50,000  in  the  market.  This  time  I  paid  a  big  price  for  my  neg- 
ligence. 

Now  comes  another  close  call.  A  short  time  before  Edenburg 
became  a  great  oil  town,  a  citizen  of  rather  shaky  repute,  living 
near  the  old  hamlet,  discovered  large  quantities  of  white  mica  on 
his  land.  He  soon  took  into  collusion  with  him  a  man  living  near 
Youngsville,  Pa.,  and  samples  of  "melted  silver"  were  exhibited 
about  Youngsville  and  vicinity.  Men  who  had  accumulated 
money  by  shrewdness  and  good  investments,  grabbed  at  this  bait 
voraciously  and  paid  big  bonuses  for  leases  in  this  silver  belt. 
After  several  thousand  dollars  had  been  invested  by  Youngsville 
citizens,  Chapin  Siggins  (an  old  California  miner,)  D.  Mead  and 
myself  made  a  visit  to  this  new  Eldorado.  It  was  a  two-day  jaunt, 
on  horseback,  under  a  broiling  sun.  When  we  reached  the  neigh- 
borhood of  the  "mines"  we  boarded  for  a  day  or  two  with  an  old 
farmer,  who  charged  us  the  princely  sum  of  six  cents  a  meal,  and 
six  cents  a  feed  for  our  hoi'ses.  As  we  expected  to  soon  make  a 
great  fortune  in  silver  mines,  we  did  not  kick  at  this  "extortion." 
Our  California  expert  soon  pronounced  this  shining  silver  white 
mica.  As  we  were  then  in  the  confines  of  Clarion  county,  and  as 
the  weather  was  too  hot  for  comfortable  traveling,  and  as  our 
finances  seemed  to  be  ample  to  pay  our  "bed  and  board,"  we  con- 
cluded to  rusticate  a  day  or  two.  Before  leaving  this  enchanted 
spot  where  fortunes  had  not  been  made  and  lost,  but  simply  lost, 
our  silver  company  took  an  option  on  100  acres  of  quite  good  farm- 
land. We  paid  a  large  amount  down  "to  bind  the  contract."  This 
sum  was  one  dollar,  cash.  This  contract  was  gotten  up  in  fun,  and 
ran  quite  a  long  time.  It  read,  that  if  we  paid  $4,000  within  two 
years,  the  farm  was  ours.  Here  is  just  where  the  fun  did  not  come 
In.    If  we  had  made  the  time  four  years  (which  we  could  have 


THE  LUMBER  BUSINESS  IN  PARKER  GITY  25 

done,  with  the  full  consent  of  the  owner,)  we  would  have  had  an 
option  on  a  $100,000  farm,  for  $4,000.  This  same  farm  was  one 
of  the  best  in  the  Edenburg  oil  field.  When  the  Edenburg  oil  ex- 
citement was  at  its  height  our  silver  syndicate  was  not  sure  of  the 
time  of  our  option,  and  hastened  to  look  up  the  contract,  not 
knowing  at  that  time  whether  our  contract  ran  one  or  ten  years. 
We  found  the  limit  about  six  months  short  at  one  end. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  LUMBER  BUSINESS  IN  PARKER  CITY. 

In  this  ninth  chapter  I  will  give  a  little  attention  to  the  once 
famous  Parker  City. 

When  this  oil  town  was  just  getting  a  good  start,  your  humble 
author  was  crossing  the  Allegheny  river  on  the  old  chain 
ferry,  owned  by  McLaughlin  and  FuUerton.  And  right  here  let 
me  say  that  each  of  those  men  made  a  nice  little  fortune  before  the 
Iron  bridge  was  built  spanning  the  river  at  that  point,  and  connect- 
ing Clarion  and  Armstrong  counties  by  this  old  ferry.  Day  and 
night,  it  was  loaded  with  teams  and  passengers. 

I  heard  "Jim"  Lambing  say:  "My,  I  wish  I  knew  where  I 
could  get  two  carloads  of  lumber.''  I  offered  to  deliver  the  lumber 
within  three  days.  Mr.  Lambing  was  delighted  with  my  offer,  and 
thus  I  commenced  quite  an  extensive  lumber  business.  When  the 
two  loads  were  delivered  to  Mr.  L.,  (Mr.  Lambing  was  afterwards 
mayor  of  the  city  of  Corry ,  Pa.) ,  I  contracted  to  deliver  two  car- 
loads more  to  another  party.  When  this  last  lot  reached  Parker 
Cit}^  I  found  that  my  man  was  not  a  "gilt-edged"  operator,  and  I 
refused  to  let  him  have  the  lumber  without  the  "cash  down."  He 
failed  to  come  to  time,  and  I  left  the  lumber  with  "Doc"  Harmon, 
to  be  sold  by  him,  he  to  have  half  the  profits  for  his  trouble.  Doc 
then  began  to  fire  orders  at  me  as  fast  as  I  could  fill  them.  Then 
a  base  of  operations  became  necessary  and  I  leased  a  few  square 
rods  of  swamp  land  of  "Old  Fullerton  Parker,"  as  he  was  familiarly 
called,  paying  $600  a  year  rental.  After  renting  the  ground  I  was 
obliged  to  haul  in  about  100  loads  of  gravel  before  I  could  pile 
lumber  on  the  soft  land.  Then  an  office  appeared  on  the  scene, 
and  G.  W.  Brown  ran  the  first  lumber  yard  in  the  greasy  city  of 
Parker.  For  about  two  years  my  luck  was  the  very  best.  I  had 
for  customers  the  best  operators  in  the  (then)  new  field.     They 


26  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

paid  their  bills  at  the  end  of  each  month.  But  ''it's  a  long  lane 
that  has  no  turn.''  If  any  man  did  owe  me  during  the  first  two 
years  of  my  yard  business  in  Parker's  Landing,  and  happened  to 
go  into  bankruptcy,  he  had  just  paid  me  off  in  full.  This  was 
rather  a  pleasant  experience  for  me.  But  the  trouble  came  in  the 
turn  of  the  lane.  At  the  end  of  two  years,  when  my  individual 
profits  had  been  about  $15,000,  oil  took  a  downward  plunge,  and 
fell  from  about  $3  a  barrel  to  about  60  cents.  Then  it  was  that  my 
heretofore  good  customers  went  into  bankruptcy  by  the  dozen, 
and  I  was  kept  busy  for  a  few  months  going  to  Pittsburg  to  adjust 
claims  with  the  register"  in  bankruptcy.  I  became  quite  well  ac- 
quainted with  this  genial  gentleman.  And  this  genial  gentleman 
made  more  money  out  of  this  kind  of  business  than  I  did.  In  the 
end  I  found  that  I  had  been  throwing  good  money  after  poor  money 
I  never  received  one  dollar  on  my  adjusted  claims.  I  learned  that 
when  a  Parker  City  oil  operator  went  into  bankruptcy  he  went  in 
to  stay.  What  money  he  had  in  his  pockets  when  the  crash  came, 
stayed  there.  I  never  heard  of  an  assignee,  register  in  bankruptcy, 
or  any  other  officer  of  the  law  getting  his  hands  on  any  of  it.  The 
creditor  always  paid  his  own  railroad  fare,  hotel  bills,  and  register's 
bills  without  aid  from  the  debtor.  The  debtor  generally  started  a 
little  business  of  his  own,  as  soon  as  he  got  his  discharge  from  all 
his  former  obligations.  This  was  my  experience,  at  least,  and  I 
have  yet  to  hear  of  a  creditor  who  came  out  any  better  than  I  did. 
"Old  Times  in  Oildom"  were  indeed  slippery  times.  Of  about  40 
lumber  yard  men,  who  ran  lumber  yards  in  these  "old  times"  but 
two,  to  my  knowledge,  came  out  unscathed. 

I'll  give  a  couple  of  items  now  to  prove  the  " slippery ness"  of 
these  times.  One  of  my  customers  at  that  time,  a  carpenter,  im- 
bued with  the  spirit  of  the  times,  took  the  job  of  building  an  addi- 
tion to  the  Phillips  hotel,  owned  by  James  E.  Brown,  the  million- 
aire of  Kittanning.  The  thrifty  carpenter  gave  me  the  privilege 
of  furnishing  all  the  lumber  for  this  addition,  amounting  to  about 
$800.  When  the  job  was  finished,  said  carpenter  collected  the 
money  from  James  E.  Brown  for  the  whole  job  and  forgot  to  pay 
G.  W.  Brown  for  the  lumber. 

My  only  hold  was  to  take  a  mechanic's  lien  on  the  building  for 
my  claim.  I  employed  a  young  lawyer,  of  Parker  City,  whose 
mind — at  that  time — was  pretty  well  taken  up  in  writing  a  novel, 
entitled  "Platonic  Love,"  to  attend  to  the  legal  part  of  the  tran- 
saction. This  young  lawyer  wrote  out  a  lien,  and  left  out  the 
township,  county,  state,  and  the  United  States  from  the  document. 
The  young  lawyer  engaged  an  old  lawyer,  of  standing,  in  Clarion, 


THE  LUMBER  BUSINESS  IN  PARKER  GITY  27 

to  help  him  along  with  the  case.  The  old  member  of  the  Clarion 
bar,  copied  the  lien,  and  added  nothing  to  it.  He  did  not  commit 
and  sin  of  ''commission,"  but,  with  his  young  colleague,  j"commit- 
ted  the  sin  of  ommission."  When  the  week  of  the  court  came 
around,  I  took  a  wagon  load  of  witnesses  to  Clarion,  to  prove  that 
the  lumber  all  went  into  the  Phillips  house  improvement,  and 
boarded  them  at  the  "Jones  House"  all  week,  and  when  Saturday 
came  my  suit  was  put  over  until  the  next  term  of  court.  When 
the  next  court  came  I  had  my  wagon  load  of  witnesses  back,for 
another  week's  visit  in  the  stilly  streets  of  the  sacred  precincts  of 
the  old  fashioned  town  of  Clarion.  After  each  witness  helpmg 
himself  to  well  cooked  viands  spread  out  before  him  on  Jones'  table 
for  a  week,  my  suit  came  on  Saturday.  It  required  less  than  half 
a  day  to  prove  my  claim  all  right,  but  after  my  brilliant  lawyers 
had  made  a  strong  speech  in  my  favor,  the  opposing  lawyer — Judge 
Campbell — arose  in  his  majesty  and  pointed  out  the  fact  to  my 
lawyers  that  they  had  presented  a  blank  to  the  august  court.  Judge 
Jenks  took  the  case  from  the  jury  before  they  left  the  box  and  they, 
were  deprived  of  their  little  visit  in  the  jury  room.  My  old 
Clarion  lawyer  jumped  to  his  feet  (said  feet  had  been  resting  on  a 
writing  table)  and  applied  for  a  new  trial.  The  judge  promptly 
refused  and  that  was  the  last  of  that  lumber  bill.  I  suppose  the 
judge  thought  a  lien  that  failed  to  state  whether  the  hotel  was  lo- 
cated in  England,  America,  or  any  other  place,  was  not  worthy  of 
his  attention.  I  learned  one  fact,  though  not  worth  $800  and  other 
expenses,  by  this  experience,  and  it  is  this:  That  I,  as  a  Warren 
county  man,  failed  to  cope  with  Clarion  county  lawyers  and  judges. 
My  second  item  is  one  showing  luck,  and  no  luck.  One  Saturday 
evening  I  took  the  paltry  sum  of  $2,000  insurance  on  my  lumber 
yard,  worth  about  $7,000.  Sunday  about  half  of  the  city  burned, 
taking  in  my  lumber  yard.  When  the  news  was  telegraphed  to 
me  Monday  morning,  to  my  Youngsville  home,  I  thought  I  had 
been  lucky  in  getting  the  $2,000  insurance  placed  before  the  fire 
took  place — but  now  comes  the  sequel.  The  company  failed  to 
come  to  time,  and  I  got  a  tip  from  a  reliable  fire  insurance  agent 
that  my  company  was  a  little  "shaky."  Then  I  hied  me  away  to 
Philadelphia,  the  headquarters  of  the  concern,  where  I  found  the 
president  of  the  company,  and  after  parleying  for  half  a  day,  I 
received  $540,  which  I  considered  a  good  thing  for  a  company  to  do 
that  would  not  be  slated  by  the  commissioner  of  insurance,  who 
considered  the  company  insolvent.  Some  people  think  there  is  no 
place  of  punishment  after  death.  I  am  not  going  to  argue  that 
question,  but  simply  say  that  it  is  my  belief,  and  hope,  that  ther^ 


28  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM 

is  some  place,  for  some  folks,  called  in  the  Bible — hell.  I'll  give 
my  readers  one  of  my  reasons  for  thinking  so.  A  man,  (I  will  not 
say  a  gentleman),  had  just  finished  a  new  hotel,  before  this  fire 
spoken  of  here.  He  owed  me  $400  for  windows,  doors,  etc.,  used 
in  the  construction  of  his  hotel.  He  had  $1,800  insurance  on  the 
building.  I  had  a  lien  on  the  hotel  and  if  the  fire  had  held  off  one 
day  the  hotel  would  have  been  sold  to  satisfy  the  claim  (if  not  in 
the  meantime) .  But  the  fire  settled  the  lien  business.  Then  the 
man  told  me  that  he  would  certainly  pay  me  when  he  received  his 
$1,800  insurance.  I  saw  him  a  short  time  afterwards,  and  he  told 
me  that  he  had  received  his  insurance  money,  but  had  invested  it 
in  junk,  and  that  he  would  have  returns  in  one  month.  He  asked 
me  to  draw  on  him  at  the  expiration  of  one  month  for  $50.  I  did 
so  with  not  the  least  expectation  of  having  the  draft  honored  and  in 
a  few  days  the  draft  came  to  the  Youngsville  Savings  Bank,  with 
these  words  written  on  the  back:  "Give  Brown  my  love,  and 
tell  him  to  draw  again."  As  I  had,  in  the  meantime,  learned  this 
man  had  smuggled  his  property  out  of  his  hands,  I  pocketed  both 
the  insult  and  loss.  Now,  dear  reader,  do  you  wonder  that  I  de- 
sire a  place  of  future  punishment.  Many,  many  men  like  this 
were  inhabitants  of  the  oil  regions,  and  helped  to  make  "old 
times  in  oildom"  miserable. 


CHAPTER  X. 

JOHN  GALEY  AND  THE  ROBINSONS. 

A  few  items  from  the  book  of  memory  concerning  "down  at 
Parker"  will  help  to  make  up  this  tenth  article. 

When  the  lumber  business  had  become  a  little  slow  on  Oil  Creek 
the  author  of  this  book  transferred  his  rambling  tread  to  the  busy, 
busy  precincts  of  Parker's  Landing.  There  the  oil  business 
brought  together  a  most  motely  crowd.  No  oil  town  produced  a 
more  mixed  crowd.  No  oil  town  produced  so  many  rich  oil  farm- 
ers as  did  Parker.  The  Parkers,  Robinsons,  Foxes,  and  scores 
upon  scores  of  families  were  rich  enough  to  live  without  oil  but 
when  the  oleaginous  wealth  was  forced  upon  them  they  very  meek- 
ly accepted  it.  Among  the  richest,  both  after  and  before  striking 
oil,  were  the  Robinsons.  There  were  three  brothers,  and  each  had 
a  §ood,  large  farm,  and  every  acre  was  good  oil  territory.  The 
pilmg  of  riches  on  these  good  natured  and  contented  men  did  not 


JOHN  GALEY  AND  THE  ROBINSONS  29 

set  them  up  above  poor  folks.  They  always  dressed  well  and  had 
a  gentlemanly  air  about  them  not  often  found  among  ordinary 
farmers,  and  the  striking  of  dozens  of  big  wells  on  their  farms, 
when  oil  was  worth  $3.00  a  barrel,  made  not  the  least  difference  in 
their  dress  and  actions.  It  was  always  a  comfort  for  the  author 
to  visit  with  any  of  the  brothers,  before  and  after  the  finding  of  oil 
on  their  farms.  Nearly  everybody  has  their  hobby,  and  one  of 
these  brothers  had  this  for  his  hobby.  When  he  bought  lumber 
of  me  he  paid  at  the  end  of  every  month  just  as  regular  as  the  end 
of  the  month  came.  But  the  odd  cents  on  the  bill  he  would  never 
pay.  If  the  bill  was  $500.01  he  would  pay  $500,  and  if  the  bill  was 
$1.99  he  would  pay  $1.  He  always  drew  the  line  on  cents.  He 
would  never  pay  only  even  dollars,  but  would  never  find  any  fault 
with  any  bill,  either  large  or  small.  He  was  one  of  my  best  cus- 
'  tomers  while  I  kept  a  lumber  yard  at  Parker  City.  While  operat- 
ing his  large  oil  farm  his  monthly  lumber  bills  ran  very  high,  and 
in  my  four  years'  business  I  never  was  obliged  to  present  a  bill  for 
payment.  On  the  first  day  of  each  month  he  would  call  for  his 
bill  and  write  his  check  for  even  dollars.  If  all  my  customers  in 
Parker  had  been  Robinsons  I  would  have  been  just  about  $10,000 
ahead  when  I  quit  the  lumber  yard  business.  What  a  blessed 
world  this  would  be  if  all  the  people  were  Robinsons. 

John  H.  Galey  was  one  of  the  many  business  men  of  Parker  at 
the  time  I  speak  of.  John's  history  from  that  time  to  the  present 
is  well  worth  a  brief  mention.  He  was  an  active  boy,  as  the  run  of 
boys  go,  generally.  He  had  his  eyes  open  for  some  kind  of  an  oil 
trade.  For  a  while  he  did  not  have  his  mind  made  up  as  to  what 
kind  of  a  trade  it  would  be.  Finally  an  operator  put  a  well  down 
on  Stump  Creek  island,  a  mile  above  Parker.  The  operator  struck 
a  very  good  paying  well  and  offered  the  island  to  Galey  for  $10,000. 
John  thought  the  matter  over  and  made  up  his  mind  that  $10,000 
and  more  than  that  amount,  could  be  pumped  from  that  well,  but 
to  use  his  own  words:' 'I  had  not  the  $10,000,  but  went  to  Pitts- 
burg and  borrowed  it  and  paid  for  the  property,  and  I  have  taken 
from  that  and  another  well  which  I  put  down  on  the  same  island 
$125,000,  and  I  have  run  the  wells  only  18  months.  They  are  pro- 
ducing nearly  as  much  as  ever  and  they  make  a  nice  little  property. 
John  went  on  making  money  hand  over  hand  for  a  time,  then  he 
went  far  toward  the  setting  sun  and  built  a  large,  thriving  town. 
One  daj,  when  he  was  away  on  business,  the  Indians  came  and 
wiped  out  his  town.  But  John  Galey  was  not  the  man  to  sit  down 
and  mourn  over  the  loss  of  his  wealth.  The  next  time  I  heard  of 
him  he  plunged  into  the  wilderness  at  Haymaker,  McKean  county, 


30  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

Pa.,  and  leased  a  large  amount  of  land  farther  north  than  any  oil 
company  had  thought  of  going.  He  took  that  well  known  and 
moneyed  firm,  the  McKinney  Bros.,  into  the  deal  with  him,  and 
ere  long  Galey  was  sailing  over  financial  seas  as  gaily  as  ever  before. 
The  next  time  I  met  John  was  several  years  afterwards  at  one  of 
his  boarding  houses,  or  houses  where  he  boarded,  near  Oakdale, 
Pa.  This  is  the  very  strange  story  he  told  me  on  that  occasion: 
"I  came  to  McDonald  a  couple  of  years  ago  to  lease  gas  territory 
for  Guffey,  Galey  &  Co.  No  oil  had  been  found  in  this  section  at 
that  time.  But  thinking  that  this  was  gas  territory  I  commenced 
at  McDonald  and  made  leases  along  this  ridge  for  a  distance  of 
nearly  three  miles.  Our  strip  is  a  little  over  a  mile  wide,  on  an 
average.  Now  every  a'cre  of  it  is  the  best  oil  territory  in  the  Mc- 
Donald field.  I  happened  to  keep  right  on  the  belt  as  near  as  if  I" 
had  known  just  where  the  oil  lay.  A  little  side  belt  struck  us  oc- 
scasionally  but  run  out  just  as  soon  as  it  crossed  us.  We  have  the 
largest  wells  in  this  field,  one  of  them  producing  16,000  barrels  a 
day  when  first  struck  (this  is  the  old  Matthews  well.)  One  flowed 
30,000  barrels  before  we  could  control  it.  The  oil  rushed  down  the 
creek  through  Nobletown,  but  luckily  did  not  take  fire.  It  is  the 
most  strange  thing  to  me  imaginable  to  think  how  I  followed  this 
belt  so  far,  and  then  stopped  at  the  end  of  it,  when  I  was  leasing 
gas  territory  with  no  thoughts  of  oil.  I  cannot  but  think  it  almost 
a  miracle." 

I'll  give  a  few  more  items  concerning  the  once  famous  Parker 
territory  in  chapter  11. 


CHAPTER  XI. 
PARKER  CITY. 

I  take  for  my  subject,  in  this  eleventh  chapter,  Parker  City.  Who 
has  not  heard  of  Parker  City?  Certainly  every  oil  man  has  become 
familiar  with  the  name. 

This  little  city  is  one  of  the  ''has  beens.''  It  never  will  be  the 
great  oil  centre  that  it  once  was,  but  it  might  have  been  one  of  the 
best  of  its  size  in  Western  Pennsylvania,  if  not  for  the  short  sight- 
edness  of  the  original  landholders.  This  remark  applies  particu- 
larly to  "the  flats,"  or  First  Ward. 

When  Mr.  Fullerton  Parker  began  to  rent  his  land  holdings  along 
the  river  front,  the  oil  business  was  so  great  that  he  could  get  nearly 


PARKER  CITY  31 

any  price  he  put  on  it  as  rental.  If  one  man  did  not  give  $10  a  foot 
front  as  rent  per  year,  another  man  would,  and  Mr.  Parker  did 
just  what  most  any  other  man  would  in  the  same  situation — put 
on  a  big  price  per  year.  He  could  get  it,  and  it  was  worth  a  big 
price.  His  mistake  was  in  not  selling  the  lots  and  letting  some- 
body beside  himself  pay  part  of  the  city  taxes.  This  plan  would 
have  tied  many  business  men  to  the  young  city,  and  they  would 
have  been  residents  to-day,  instead  of  helping  boom  some  other 
city.  The  selling  of  the  lots  would  have  been  the  best  plan,  as, 
with  the  united  efforts  of  the  many  owners,  the  city  would  have  had 
a  steady  growth,  thereby  gradually  increasing  the  value  of  city 
property. 

This  is  no  guess  work.  All  travelers  know  that  large  towns  are 
not  found  in  bunches.  As  the  traveler  passes  through  the  country 
at  intervals  of  40  or  50  miles,  he  sees  large  towns.  The  shadow  of 
a  large  town  keeps  the  little  towns  weak  and  spindling.  A  little 
town  don't  grow  much  with  a  large  town  just  close  by  to  take  all 
the  trade  away  from  the  small  town.  This  is  one  of  the  uncontra- 
dicted facts.  Kittaning  is  far  enough  down  the  river  and  Franklin 
is  far  enough  up  the  river  to  give  Parker  City  an  open  field.  No 
shadows  from  any  direction  would  dwarf  the  growth  of  ''pretty 
little  Parker  City,"  with  its  magnificent  view  of  the  swift  running 
old  Allegheny.  Coal,  oil,  gas,  timber  and  good  soil  are  found  all 
around  the  city.  What  more  could  be  desired  in  the  way  of  build- 
ing up  a  large  city  ?  It  is  a  fact,  known  to  every  Parkerite,  that 
when  rents  were  up  to  fever  pitch  and  business  booming,  there  was 
no  grumbling,  but  when  business  began  to  adjust  itsefi  to  the  de- 
creasing output  of  the  oil  wells  of  the  vicinity,  rents  were  not  ad- 
justed. 

The  author  speaks  from  personal  experience.  He  paid 
$600  a  year  rent,  for  several  years,  on  a  few  rods  square  of  swamp 
land,  as  a  spot  to  pile  lumber  on.  The  land  was  made  usable  by 
said  author  hauling  many  loads  of  gravel  into  the  swamp. 
By  the  application  of  this  gravel,  the  land  was  made  firm  enough 
to  hold  up  lumber.  This  expense  was  borne  by  the  renter.  But, 
as  I  said  before,  Mr.  Parker  was  not  considered  an  extortioner  at 
this  time,  as  he  could  get  the  high  rent  from  other  parties,  if  your 
scribe  had  not  frozen  to  the  lot.  But  the  trouble  came  when  busi- 
ness fell  off  nine-tenths,  and  your  humble  servant  plucked  up  cour- 
age enough  to  approach  W.  C.  Mobley,  the  superintendent  and  son- 
in-law  of  Mr.  Parker,  and  asked  him,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  the 
profits  on  sales  of  lumber  would  not  pay  the  rent,  to  lower  the  rent 
a  trifle.     Mr.  Mobley's  answer  was,  "Not  a  cent."     The  result  is 


32  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

easy  to  see.     The  lumber  yard  was  obliged  to  close  out  bu^ness. 

This  was  the  case  with  many  other  branches  of  business.  In- 
stead of  the  motto  being  carried  out,  "Live  and  Let  Live,"  thereby 
holding  the  population,  the  motto,  ''Die  and  Let  Die,"  was  carried 
out,  and  Parker  City  missed  its  great  opportunity.  I'll  mention  a 
few  points  that  will  not  be  new  to  the  old  residents  of  the  city. 

Before  the  bridge  was  built,  John  McLaughlin  and  'Squire  Ful- 
lerton  bought  a  chain  ferry,  paying  $8,000.  It  paid  for  itself  in  a 
few  months,  and  made  a  handsome  fortune  for  the  firm  before  the 
bridge  took  away  their  business.  But  with  business  foresight, 
McLaughlin  and  Fullerton  took  a  good  slice  of  the  bridge  stock, 
and  again  piled  up  money.  'Squire  Fullerton  is  now  dead,  but  his 
widow  lives  on  the  ''Bluff,"  where  she  can  overlook  the  place  of  her 
late  husband's  victories.  John  McLaughlin  built  the  Globe  hotel 
and  conducted  it  for  several  years,  then  sold  it  to  his  two  sons, 
George  and  Will.  Their  father  is  connected  with  the  natural  gas 
business  and  lives  at  Murray sville,  Pa. 

Who  of  the  old  operators  but  knew  Fin  Frisbee.  "Fin"  together 
with  "Doc"  Book,  built  the  Central  hotel.  Oh,  but  that  hotel  did 
a  great  business.  Just  one  little  incident  will  prove  this.  I  was 
a  lodger  one  night,  and  by  the  noise  below  my  slumbering  place,  I 
took  it  that  the  bar  was  doing  quite  a  business.  As  I  was  used  to 
noise,  it  did  not  deprive  me  of  "nature's  sweet  restorer" — sleep. 
But  "Curt"  McKinney  of  Titusville,  did  not  fare  so  well.  I  stood 
in  the  office  the  next  morning  after  the  noise,  when  "Curt,"  (as  he 
was  called  then,  but  now  he  is  called  Mr.  McKinney),  came  down 
stairs  and  approached  "Fin,"  who  stood  in  the  office,  wearing  one 
of  his  contented  smiles,  and  addressed  him  in  this  manner:  "Mr. 
Frisbee,  if  you  allow  so  much  noise  about  your  bar  every  night,  as 
you  did  last  night,  I  will  not  stop  over  night  with  you  again." 
"Curt"  said  this  with  his  usual  earnestness.  "Fin"  looked  up  very 
much  unconcerned,  and  replied:  "I  took  in  at  the  bar  last  night 
$500.  I  will  not  trade  a  noisy  $500  at  the  bar  for  a  quiet  70-cent 
lodging."  Poor  Frisbee.  After  becoming  proprietor  of  the  great 
Kent  House  at  Lakewood,  he  sold  out,  and  removed  to  Duluth, 
where  he  added  very  materially  to  his  wealth,  and  bid  a  long  fare- 
well to  his  dollars  and  crossed  over  the  river  of  death,  to  try  an  un- 
known existence.  If  there  are  no  hotels  to  be  run  in  that  other 
life,  "Fin"  will  be  unhappy. 

I  met  Elisha  Robinson  on  the  street  this  morning.  He  is  the 
same  unassuming  man  of  money  that  he  was  when  his  oil  wells  were 
forcing  him  to  go  to  Pittsburg  every  few  days  to  deposit  his  piles  of 
cash.     He  is  the  same  true  Christian  gentleman  yet  that  he  was 


OIL  GITY  SIXTY  YEARS  AGO  33 

when,  33  years  ago,  he  would  come  as  regular  as  a  clock  into  my 
lumber  office  to  pay  his  bills.  If  all  my  customers  had  been  Elisha 
Robinsons  I  would  have  $10,000  more  money  to-day  than  I  have. 
And  his  brother,  ''Sam,"  still  clings  to  this  terrestrial  ball,  which 
means  that  another  good,  honest,  rich  man  still  lives.  Both  broth- 
ers are  tilling  the  soil,  the  same  as  before  that  same  soil  poured 
forth  rivers  of  oil.  Elisha  has  his  affections  fixed,  this  spring,  on 
a  piece  of  hoarded  land  that  he  will  clear  up  this  coming  summer 
and  put  in  a  state  of  cultivation. 

FuUerton  Parker,  who  was  monarch  of  all  he  surveyed  in  this 
city  in  its  palmy  day,  has,  with  many  other- pioneers,  been  gathered 
''to  his  fathers,"  but  his  mansion  on  the  "Bluff,"  still  overlooks  the 
city  which  bears  his  name.  There  are  Parkers  and  Parkers  here 
yet,  but  they  are  not  of  the  old  settlers.  There  is  one  in  Oil  City 
(William  Parker,  who  is  remembered  here  as  the  owner  of  the  old 
"Rob  Roy  "  well  at  Karns  City,  which  produced  nearly  150,000 
barrels  of  oil  and  put  nearly  as  many  dollars  into  the  pockets  of  its 
owner.)  There  were  very  few  "Rob  Roys."  None  ever  came  and 
stopped  with  me.  The  "Rob  Roy"  spoken  of  above,  gave  Oil  City 
an  ornament,  in  the  great  brick  mansion  of  "Bill"  Parker.  It  is 
lucky  for  noted  Oil  City  that  such  men  as  Mr.  Parker  gravitated  in 
its  direction,  when  they  became  too  rich  to  stay  anywhere  else. 

And  now,  let  me  close  this  article  by  saying  that  if  Parker  is  not 
the  Parker  of  old  it  bears  unmistakable  signs  of  former  prosperity 
in  its  five  good  churches,  fine  brick  school  building,  water  works, 
bank  and  many  substantial  buildings  that  were  paid  for  when 
money  was  no  object.  For  this  and  many  other  blessings  the 
Parker  of  to-day  has  reason  to  be  thankful.     So  mote  it  be. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

OIL  CITY  SIXTY  YEARS  AGO. 

Talk  about  old  times !  Why,  the  inhabitants,  the  younger  ones, 
know  very  little  of  the  growth,  from  the  beginning,  to  the  present. 
I  was  born  within  10  miles  of  the  Drake  well,  or  the  first  well  drilled 
80  years  ago,  in  Centerville,  Crawford  county.  Pa.,  and  had  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  its  production  for  the  first  two  days,  and  the 
same  with  the  second  well,  right  across  the  creek  from  the  Drake 
well,  on  the  John  Watson  farm.  This  second  well,  known  as  the 
WiUiams  well,  made  much  more  of  a  splurge  thajU  the  Drake  well. 


34  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

It  sent  the  oily  fluid  many  feet  skyward,  with  a  vim  which  the 
natives  of  this  corner  of  God's  footstool  never  dreamed  of.  The 
natives,  your  humble  servant  not  excepted,  were  nearly  dumb. 
The  inhabitants  of  that  period  had  never  seen  oil  in  all  its  glory 
before.  The  inhabitants  along  oil  creek  had  smelled  it,  inasmuch 
as  a  few  drops  of  it  would  occasionally  ooze  through  the  ground. 
I,  myself,  at  that  time  lived  here  at  Youngsville,  Warren  county, 
Pa.,  on  the  banks  of  the  Brokenstraw  creek.  For  many  years, 
before  the  time  of  striking  the  first  oil  well,  I  had  made  tripsdown 
the  Allegheny  river,  on  lumber  rafts,  nearly  every  time  the  water 
came  to  a  rafting  stage.  Always  when  passing  the  mouth  of  Oil 
Creek,  a  strong  "Seneca  oil"  smell  came  floating  on  the  air.  That 
was  all  there  was  to  it — just  a  smell.  Compare  that  smell  with 
the  present  oil  business,  if  you  can.  I  leave  it  to  any  living  man  or 
woman  to  make  the  comparison.     I  will  not  attempt  it. 

Oil  Cit}^,  at  that  time,  consisted  of  a  grist  mill,  hotel,  one  little 
store  and  two  dwelling  houses.  The  hotel  was  the  most  preten- 
tious building  of  the  town.  It  lacked  ''a  small  trifle"  of  being  a 
mate  to  the  Arlington  of  to-day,  in  size  and  equipment,  but  bore 
the  same  name  of  the  ''best  hotel"  in  town.  The  old,  and  indeed 
most  of  the  young  inhabitants  of  the  ''Hub  of  Oildom,"  have  seen 
the  old  Moran  house,  at  the  lower  end  of  the  city.  That  one  hotel 
was  the  real  money-maker  of  the  town.  When  a  good  rafting 
stage  was  on,  the  man  that  got  a  good  bed  to  sleep  in  had  to  be  on 
hand  early  in  the  afternoon,  as  quite  a  while  before  dark  the  Al- 
legheny fleets — or  rafts — would  begin  to  tie  up  for  the  night,  in 
Oil  Creek  eddy.  Before  dark  the  river  would  be  filled  nearly  to 
the  opposite  shore  with  rafts  from  almost  every  place  on  the  Al- 
legheny river  from  Oil  City  to  Coudersport.  The  main  points  from 
which  these  rafts  came  were  Tionesta,  Irvineton,  Warren,  James- 
town, N.  Y.,  Kinzua,  Pa.,  Corydon,  Pa.,  Salamanca,  N.  Y.,  Tun- 
ingwant.  Pa.,  Olean,  N.  Y.,  Port  Alleghany,  Pa.,  and  Couders- 
port, Pa.  The  reader  will  see  that  the  Keystone  and  Empire 
states  divided  the  honor  of  furnishing  this  great  river  trade.  This 
was  caused  by  the  river  starting  in  Pennsylvania,  and  straying  off 
into  the  state  of  New  York,  but  finding  the  Yankees  no  better  than 
the  Dutch  Pennsylvanians,  the  waters  strayed  back  into  the  parent 
state,  and  commingling  with  the  waters  of  the  Monongahela,  slowly 
and  peacefully  wendedtheir  way  through  the  slave  country  of  the 
south,  to  the  sea. 

Speaking  of  rivers,  let  me  say,  fearing  it  may  slip  from  my  mem- 
ory, that  years  ago  I  sat  in  the  office  of  a  hotel,  on  Keating  Summit 
Potter  county.  Pa.,  and  gazed  on  the  drops  of  rain  falling  on  one 


OIL  GITY  SIXTY  YEARS  AGO  35 

inch  of  ground,  where  it  divided,  a  part  going  into  the  Atlantic  and 
a  part  into  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  The  question  in  my  mind  was, 
which  part  will  reach  the  salt  water  first  ?  But  I  am  getting  off 
the  subject  of  "Old  Times  in  Oildom."  To  make  it  plain  to  the 
readers  of  this  article,  I  will  say  that  the  old  Moran  house  was  not 
supposed  to  hold  all  the  hardy  men  that  manned  the  oars  which 
guided  this  large  number  of  rafts.  The  "hands"  which  did 
the  work  at  the  end  of  those  oar  stems,  generally  rested  after  their 
hard  day's  work,  in  a  raft  shanty,  which  was  anything  but  a  shield 
against  rain  and  snow,  being  constructed  of  green  boards,  roof  and 
all.  This  shanty  was  built  for  but  a  short  period  of  service.  Only 
for  a  place,  for  perhaps  a  dozen  men  to  sleep  in,  for  a  week  or  two, 
according  to  the  distance  floated.  There  was  one  man  to  watch 
the  raft  until  sold  and  delivered.  Only  the  owner  of  the  raft  and 
the  pilot  indulged  in  the  luxury  of  a  bed  in  the  far-famed  Moran 
hotel.  Sometimes  a  "hand"'  leaning  a  little  toward  dudishness, 
would  mix  in  with  the  above  named  owners  and  pilots,  and  invest 
a  quarter  of  a  dollar  in  a  "downy"  bed.  I  don't  speak  from  ex- 
perience regarding  "downy  beds,"  because  in  my  youthful  days,  I 
considered  myself  as  belonging  to  "the  Brotherhood  of  man,"  and 
I  always  slept,  spoon  fashion,  in  a  board  bunk,  partly  filled  with 
straw,  in  the  shanty. 

Before  leaving  this  subject,  I  wish  to  mention  the  fact,  that  old- 
time  raftsmen  seemed  to  be  of  the  old  fogy  class,  in  regard  to  in- 
ventions. Speaking  within  reasonable  bounds,  the  lumber  men  of 
the  days  gone  by,  for  50  years  at  least,  practiced  the  most  foolish 
methods  of  landing  their  rafts.  As  the  evening  began  to  appear, 
the  raft  was  rowed  into  the  first  eddy  approached,  and  tied  to  a 
nearby  tree  or  stump,  or  anything  that  would  hold  the  raft  quietly 
until  morning,  and  until  the  "hands"  had  got  out  from  the  straw, 
in  the  shanty  bunks,  and  appeased  their  keen  appetites  on  po- 
tatoes, meat,  generally  salt  pork,  and  bread.  Then  the  pilot 
would  exclaim  in  a  sort  of  commanding  voice,  "untie  that  cable," 
and  away  Pittsburgward  would  go  the  raft  and  crew. 

And  now  comes  in  the  foolishness,  practiced  for  a  half  century. 
The  rope  or  cable  used  for  tying  up  the  raft  was  from  one  and  one- 
half  inches  to  two  inches  in  diameter,  perhaps  from  100  to  300  feet 
long.  The  raft  was  pulled  to  the  shore  and  a  strong  hand  would 
pick  up  that  tremendously  heavy  rope,  which  lay  coiled  up  like  a 
great  anaconda,  and  would  struggle  up  a  generally  steep  bank, 
run  to  the  nearest  tree  with  all  of  the  rope  that  had  not  been  pulled 
away  from  him  by  the  downward  movement  of  the  raft.  One  end 
of  the  rope  was  tied  tight  to  the  raft.     By  the  time  that  the  out-of- 


36  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

breath''maii  on  shore  could  get  a  good  "half -hitch"  on  that  tree, 
two-thirds  or  more  of  the  rope  was  usually  dragging  in  the  water. 
Then  the  man  ashore  would  let  go  of  the  cable,  and  a  man  on  the 
raft  would  pull  it  on  to  the  raft,  and  throw  one  end  to  the  man  on 
shore  and  the  same  foolish  work  would  be  repeated  over  and  over 
until  all  hands  were  completely  exhausted,  and  the  lower  end  of 
the  eddy  reached,  if  the  eddy  was  long  enough.  But  many  times, 
in  a  short  eddy,  the  raft  defied  all  efforts  to  land  it,  and  it  ploughed 
the  water  all  night. 

After  about  a  half  century  of  this  kind  of  work,  the  so-called 
"Kendulltuckyans"  taught  the  so-called  sharp  Yankees  how  to 
land  a  raft.  Those  Kentuckians  would  take  a  1 ,000  foot  inch  and 
a  half  rope,  and  coil  it  up  on  the  rear  end  of  their  acre  raft  of  logs, 
put  in  a  snubbing  post,  near  the  rope,  and  when  they  wished  to 
land,  they  would  paddle  the  raft  ashore  wdth  their  great  long  oars; 
then  one  of  the  "hands"  would  jump  ashore,  and  the  man  on  the 
raft  would  quietly  hand  him  one  end  of  that  light,  long  rope.  The 
man  ashore  would  then  take  a  "half -hitch",  and  sit  down  and  hold 
onto  the  end  of  the  rope  until  the  raft  was  stopped.  Many  times 
not  half  the  rope  was  used  at  the  first  hitch.  After  the  "lapse  of 
years,"  the  "Yanks"  caught  on  and  we  have  enjoyed  the  work  of 
landing  lumber  rafts  ever  since.  Why,  it  is  one  of  the  wonders  of 
the  world  that  those  early  day  raftsmen  did  not  discover  this  sim- 
ple, easy  way  of  landing  a  swift  running  raft.  The  shover  of  this 
pencil  belonged  to  those  slow  learners.  The  first  time  I  ever  saw 
the  new  way  of  landing,  I  took  the  lesson  from  my  Kentucky 
brother  raftsman.  At  that  time  I  saw  those  men  land  about  one 
acre  of  logs  at  the  first  hitch,  on  the  Ohio  river. 

Of  course  I  am  talking  about  almost  a  thing  of  the  past.  But 
little  lumber  has  been  rafted  to  the  markets  since  the  "iron  horse" 
made  his  appearance.  Of  course,  said  iron  horse  don't  reach 
ever>^  lumber  mill  in  the  country  even  now,  and  once  in  a  while 
when  he  fails  to  make  his  appearance,  the  water  transportation 
takes  his  place. 


JACK  McGRAY  37 

CHAPTER  XIIL 

JACK  McCRAY. 

1^11  commence  my  13th  article  by  saying  a  few  words  about 
'^Jack'^  McCray,  one  of  the  pioneers  of  the  oil  country.  He  owned 
a  farm,  the  south  line  of  which  came  within  a  few  rods  of  the 
Drake  well.  When  the  Drake  well  was  struck,  leasers  came  to 
him  by  the  dozen.  His  was  a  large  farm,  lying  between  the  John 
Watson  farm  and  the  Drake  well.  ''Jack"  laid  out  his  land  in 
acre  leases,  on  which  he  charged  $100  bonus  and  a  royalty  of  one- 
fourth  the  oil.  The  writer  of  this  secured  two  of  these  leases  at 
these  figures,  and  soon  found  himself  out  of  pocket  $200.  As  the 
wells  were  kicked  down  by  the  aid  of  a  spring  pole  those  days, 
there  were  more  leasers  than  operators.  Many  more  men  planked 
down  their  money  and  signed  contracts  than  put  down  wells.  After 
many  weeks  of  kicking  by  stalwart  men,  dry  holes  would  turn  up 
in  disagreeable  numbers,  discouraging  the  many  would-be  operat- 
ors, mj^self  among  the  number,  and  in  the  course  of  time,  ''Jack'^ 
had  more  copies  of  leases  than  interests  in  oil  wells.  The  oil  belt 
seemed  to  follow  oil  creek  down  toward  the  ''mouth  of  the  creek," 
instead  of  going  up  Pine  Creek,  over  McCray' s  land,  as  the  old  wells 
of  Captain  Funk,  Noble  &  Delamater,  Phillips  and  many  others 
testified,  But  "Jack,"  with  his  bonus  in  his  pocket,  became  the 
owner  of  the  famous  McCray  hotel,  where  speculators  from  the 
east,  west,  north  and  south,  were  wont  to  assemble  to  talk  over 
what  was  a  business  at  that  time,  to  them,  of  an  unknown  quan- 
tity. "Jack"  was  soon  known  all  over  this  country  by  his  attempt 
at  a  laugh  composed  of  two  syllables — or  the  same  sound  given 
twice^"Cha-cha."  The  two  sounds  came  often,  as  he  was  of  a 
very  Jovial  disposition.  No  one,  either  by  seeing  or  hearing, 
would  know  that  this  noise  was  meant  for  a  laugh,  as  not  a  muscle 
of  his  face  moved.  Yet  these  indiscribable  sounds  did  duty  as  a 
sign  of  merriment  on  his  part. 

"Jack"  kept  spanking  good  race  horses  and  driving  teams,  and 
made  the  most  of  life  for  many  years,  then  struck  into  the  wilds  of 
Forest  county,  as  general  manager  of  a  large  lumber  company  and 
pioneered  the  pine  lumber  business  for  many,  many  years.  He 
"grew  up  with  the  country."  He  was  elected  and  served  one  term 
as  associate  judge  of  the  Forest  County  court.  His  name  will  be 
handed  down  to  all  future"gene»ations.  During  his  residence  in 
this  wild  county  of  Forest,  a  postoffice  which  was  located  in  his 


38  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

township,  which  is  named  McCray,  and  when  the  B.  &  O.  railroad 
was  built,  the  station  was  named  McCray  in  honor  of  the  judge. 
When  all  the  nice  timber  was  cut  into  lumber  and  shipped  away 
from  his  jurisdiction,  it  became  too  quiet  for  a  man  of  his  ambition 
and  he  hied  himself  back  to  his  old  stamping  grounds — Titusville — 
and  soon  bid  farewell  to  all  mundane  things,  and  crossed  over  the 
unknown  river  where,  perhaps,  there  are  no  oil  wells  or  lumber 
mills. 

Pithole  comes  vividly  to  my  mind  just  now.  My  first  visit  to 
this  mushroom  city  was  an  experience.  I  found  a  daily  newspaper, 
railroad,  telegraph  office,  opera  house,  many  hotels  and  boarding 
houses  and  everything  that  goes  to  make  a  modern  city.  The 
people  of  the  village  said  the  population  was  about  25,000.  I  did 
not  believe  it  then  and  I  do  not  believe  it  now.  But  there  was  a 
"right  smart"  of  people  there  for  a  three  months  old  city  in  the 
woods.  I  put  up  at  the  most  tony  hotel  in  the  city,  and  had  water 
biscuits,  half  baked,  for  supper.  Although  I  registered  about 
3  o'clock  p.  m.,  all  the  beds  were  engaged  for  the  night.  But  the 
obliging  clerk  told  me  he  would  provide  a  place  for  me  to  sleep. 
When  bed  time  came  this  smiling  clerk  took  a  lantern,  and  by  its 
dim  light,  I  was  led  to  the  barn  and  handed  a  blanket,  by  the  said 
clerk,  who  told  me  to  ''climb  that  ladder"  and  I  would  find  plenty 
of  hay  at  the  top  of  the  mow  to  make  a  bed  of.  I  did  as  directed 
and  about  40  feet  skyward  I  found  plenty  of  hay,  and  also  men 
that  had  perceeded  me  to  the  roosting  place  as  patrons  of  this 
hotel.  I  found  a  vacant  place  among  the  snoring  crowd.  Mingled 
with  the  unmistakable  smell  of  bad  whiskey.  But  morning  came 
at  last,  and  also  a  dose  of  the  hot  biscuit.  When  the  bill  was  paid 
I  found  the  modest  charge  of  $1.00  for  each  meal  and  75  cents  for 
lodging.  After  breakfast  I  hired  a  little  burity  saddle  horse,  to 
ride  to  McCrea's  Landing — four  miles  distant.  When  I  returned 
the  obliging  liveryman  charged  me  only  $5  for  the  use  of  the  little 
animal,  about  three  hours.  There  was  never  but  one  Pithole. 
Just  think  of  a  six-foot  gnage  railroad  being  built  four  miles  to 
Oleopolis  and  then  dismantled  in  a  few  short  months.  The  last 
time  that  I  passed  through  Pithole  I  saw  but  two  occupied  houses. 
As  that  was  20  years  ago,  it  is  dollars  to  cents,  if  there  is  one  house 
there  now.  In  the  palmy  days  of  Pithole  considerable  oil  was  put 
in  barrels  and  towed  up  the  river  to  the  P.  &  E.  raiload  at  Irvineton. 

I  loaded  a  boat  with  shingles  for  the  mouth  of  Pithole  creek  and 
accompanied  the  crew  of  five  down  to  the  place  of  delivery.  After 
we  got  the  shingles  off  the  boat  was  loaded  with  barrels  of  oil.  The 
five  men  rolled  barrels  nearly  all  day.     Two  young  coopers  were 


JACK  McCRAY  39 

tightening  the  hoops  on  the  barrels  on  shore.  The  five  brawny- 
boatmen  kept  nagging  the  coopers  and  poking  fun  at  them  all  day. 
One  was  an  Irishman  and  the  other  a  Dutchman.  I  stood  on  the 
high  bank  of  the  river  late  in  the  afternoon.  I  heard  the  young 
Irishman  say,  ''You  have  made  fun  of  us  all  day  and  now  we  are 
going  to  pay  you  for  it."  With  this  exclamation  on  his  lips,  both 
coopers  jumped  and  ran  onto  the  boat  and  in  five  minutes  the  two 
coopers  had  five  big  boatmen  badly  whipped.  Two  of  them  ran, 
but  they  were  soon  overtaken  and  knocked  down.  A  part  of  the 
boatmen  called  themselves  great  fighters  before  the  coopers  got 
their  ''dander  up."  We  did  not  hear  anything  more  about  pugil- 
istic achievements  after  this  battle.  The  boatmen  did  not  dare  to 
let  their  boat  lie  at  the  landing  that  night,  but  hitched  on  their 
horses  and  towed  it  two  miles  up  the  river  and  spent  the  night  out 
of  range  of  the  coopers.  All  this  was  an  object  lesson — showing 
what  can  be  done  by  courage,  displayed  by  the  weaker  party.  And 
this  reminds  me  of  a  similar  case  that  came  under  my  observation 
at  Reno,  at  the  time  General  Burnside  was  building  his  railroad 
over  the  hills  and  through  the  valleys  to  Plumer.  The  railroad 
workers  were  gathered  in  a  crowd  at  the  junction  of  the  wildcat 
road  with  the  junction  of  the  Atlantic  &  Great  Western  road.  A 
lively  discussion  arose  on  some  question  among  them  and  one  stal- 
wart young  Irishman  took  it  into  his  head  to  whip  the  whole  crowd, 
and  he  did  just  what  he  undertook  to  do.  He  just  walked  around 
among  those  laborers  and  knocked  down  every  one  that  came 
within  reach  of  him.  After  this  general  knockdown  business  had 
gone  about  five  minutes,  the  boss,  a  big  finely  developed  man,  be- 
longing to  the  same  country  of  the  fighter,  with  a  big  plug  hat  on, 
stepped  up  to  the  pugilistic  gentleman  and  commanded  him  to 
desist  from  his  dangerous  pastime.  The  fighter  struck  out,  square 
from  the  shoulder,  and  sent  the  boss  down  among  the  other  victims 
of  this  young  man's  rage.  His  plug  hat  rolling  and  tumbling  an- 
other rod  ahead  of  him.  The  boss  struggled  to  his  feet  and  stood 
as  a  quiet  witness,  until  the  fight  ended  for  lack  of  more  men  to 
knock  down,  and  the  whole  circus  ended  right  there  and  then, 
with  the  young  Hercules  standing  peacefully  in  the  crowd — with  a 
victorious  smile  on  his  face  and  no  one  to  question  his  title  to  the 
name  of  boss  knocker.  He  was  another  exemplification  of  the 
power  of  one  man,  energetically  applied,  that  is  fresh  in  my  mind 
to  the  present  day. 


40  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

CHAPTER  XIV* 

A  GREEDY  LANDLORD. 

What  shall  I  say  in  this  chapter  ?  The  reader  may  think  I  have 
run  out  of  material  by  this  time,  but  let  the  reader  consider  that  a 
man  who  was  born  before  such  things  as  railroads,  telegraph  lines, 
trolley  lines,  steamboats,  telephones,  ocean  cables,  mail  delivery 
routes,  flying  machines,  sewing  machines,  oil,  gas,  automobiles, 
electric  power  and  manj^  other  things  that  I  could  mention  came 
into  use,  ought  to  know  more  than  would  fill  a  small  book.  The 
voung  men  and  women  of  the  present  time  may  well  wonder  how 
human  beings  could  get  along  without  the  things  above  mentioned. 
But  they  did  get  along  6,000  years  before  these  conveniences  came 
to  help  mankind  in  general. 

When  I  was  a  boy  a  party  of  young  men  and  young  ladies  would 
get  into  a  big  box  filled  with  straw,  on  a  pair  of  wooden  bob  sleds, 
drawn  by  old  ''Buck  and  Jerry,"  a  faithful  yoke  of  oxen,  and  go  on 
a  snail's  gallup  miles  upon  miles  to  a  dance,  in  zero  weather,  with 
as  light  hearts  and  as  much — or  more — merriment  than  is  now 
shown  in  automobile  loads  of  young  heirs  to  millions  of  dollars. 
A  man  worth  $10,000  was  considered  as  great  a  man  as  a  multi- 
millionaire is  at  the  present  time.  I  think  as  to  happiness,  perhaps 
these  old  time  young  people  had  the  best  of  it.  The  ox  teams 
never  killed  anybody.  As  much  cannot  be  said  in  the  favor  of 
automobiles.  Many  people  of  great  wealth  have  passed  to  the 
other  life  on  account  of  their  wealth.  A  poor  man  or  woman  can- 
not own  one  of  these  man-killers.  Human  life  is  much  safer  be- 
hind an  ox  team  than  behind  an  automobile.  Of  course  a  certain 
few,  and  very  few,  owned  horses  and  buggies,  but  they  stood  no 
higher  in  society  than  ox  team  people.  There  were  no  distinctions 
or  classes,  at  that  time.  All  stood  on  the  same  level.  There  was 
not  wealth  enough  in  the  country  to  make  it  worth  while  to  draw 
a  distinction.  There  are  so  many  cliques  and  classes,  nowadays, 
that  when  either  class  gets  up  any  kind  of  an  entertainment  it  is  a 
puzzle  to  the  "committee"  to  know  who  to  invite.  This  trouble- 
some puzzle  did  not  come  in  at  the  time  of  which  I  write,  conse- 
quently they  had  more  room  for  unalloyed  happiness. 

Where  the  hilarity  came,  in  the  old  times,  was  at  the  country 
corn  husking  or  apple  paring  bees.  The  patent  apple"  dryer  was 
not  invented  and  the  main  dependence  was  a  pocket  knife.  The 
unsophisticated  young  man  was  right  at  home,  and  perfectly  con- 


A  GREEDY  LANDLORD  41 

tented,  when,  sitting  beside  his  best  girl,  with  a  pan  of  apples  on 
his  knees,  pocket  knife  in  hand,  removing  the  skin  from  the  luscious 
apples,  and  his  intended  life  partner  busily  engaged  in  stringing 
the  nicely  quartered  apples  as  they  came  from  the  nimble  knives. 
Whole  evenings  would  be  spent  in  perfect  contentment  on  the  part 
of  both.  In  fact,  the  longer  the  apples  lasted  the  better.  When 
bushels  of  apples  were  nicely  pared  and  strung  ready  for  hanging 
all  around  the  fire  place — no  stoves  then  to  take  up  the  room  in  a 
house — a  nail  could  be  driven  into  a  wall,  to  hang  the  strings  of 
apples  on  to  dry — then  a  halt  would  be  called  and  refreshments 
served  by  the  good  lady  of  the  farm  house.  After  devouring  the 
^'nick-nacks"  the  time,  generally  running  into  the  morning  hours, 
would  be  spent  in  dancing,  or  playing  "snap  and  catch  'em,"  "the 
mill  goes  round,"  "chase  the  squirrel,"  and  dozens  of  these  inno- 
cent plays.  If  I  am  a  good  judge,  more  harmony  existed  then 
than  now.  A  good  and  substantial  reason  for  this  is  easy  to  be 
seen.  The  people  never  had  heard  or  dreamed  of  these  luxuries 
or  conveniences  of  the  present  time,  therefore  they  did  not  quarrel 
and  wrangle  over  these  things. 

I  have  been  writing  so  far  in  these  articles,  about  older  times,  not 
oil  times,  as  no  oil  was  dreamed  of  then.  I  will  now  come  down 
to  oil  times.  Speaking  of  dancing,  I  should  have  said  in  the 
right  place,  that  no  quadrille  had  been  invented  when  I  first  kept 
time  to  Arthur  McKinney's  single  fiddle — that  was  what  we  called 
it  then.  It  is  now  called  a  violin.  We  had  no  caller  either.  The 
dancers  bossed  themselves.  We  had  learned  to  get  through  the 
"Opera  Reel,"  "Money  Musk,"  "French  Four"  and  many  other 
"country"  dances.  Each  dancer  was  a  self-taught  scholar.  All 
good  dancers  had  learned  their  pieces  "by  heart",  and  but  few 
mistakes  were  made.  The  writer  remembers  his  first  venture  on 
the  dancing  floor.  He  selected  one  of  the  best  looking  and  smart- 
est girls  in  the  room  for  a  partner.  She  knew  her  business  to  a  "t" 
and  so  did  all  the  rest  except  the  writer.  But,  grabbing  every 
hand  extended  to  him,  hopping  back  and  forth,  as  the  other  seven 
in  the  set  did,  turning  every  corner  in  the  imitation  of  my  partner, 
and  keeping  not  very  good  time  to  McKinney's  fiddle,  I  came  off 
victorious.  I  had  won  my  first  ball  room  battle.  But  I  was  not 
a  real  independent  dancer  yet.  I  had  followed  the  motions  of 
others  and  had  before  me  the  many  figures  to  learn  before  becom- 
ing a  full  fledged  dancing  beaux.  But,  as  in  most  of  the  under- 
takings of  this  life,  perseverance  won,  and  ere  many  moons  I  knew 
where  to  go  without  being  directed. 

I  must  mention  one  dance  given  in  Parker  City,  soon  after  oil 


42  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

was  struck.  I  was  in  the  lumber  business  and  occasionally  visited 
the  place  before  it  was  a  city.  At  each  visit  I  stopped  at  the  same 
hotel.  One  evening  I  registered  as  usual  and  soon  learned  that  a 
big  ball  was  to  come  off  that  night.  The  proprietor  of  the  hotel 
offered  to  find  lodging  for  me  outside  the  noise  of  his  dance.  I 
told  him  not  to  take  the  trouble,  as  the  noise  would  not  disturb 
my  slumbers  in  the  least.  This  landlord  had  engaged  two  violin- 
ists from  Brady's  Bend.  There  was  not  a  violinist  at  Parker  City 
at^that  time.  The  musicians  were  promptly  on  hand;  also  a  big 
crowd  of  dancers.  About  11  p.  m.  one  of  the  musicians  received 
a  telegram  calling  him  home  immediately  on  account  of  the  death 
of  a  relative.  He  lost  no  time  in  catching  the  Pittsburg  train 
that  was  just  ready  to  leave  the  Parker  depot.  As  the  absent 
violinist  was  caller  of  the  quadrilles  his  partner  was  left  in  a  bad 
shape.  The  band  was  also  left  in  a  bad  fix,  with  two  violins  and 
but  one  player,  and  the  player  could  not  call  one  quadrille.  I  had 
played  and  called  quadrilles  for  25  years,  but  nobody  in  Parker 
City  knew  it.  The  landlord  told  me  that  he  would  be  obliged  to 
pay  a  part  of  the  money  back  to  that  large  crowd  if  he  stopped  the 
program  half  finished.  The  milk  of  human  kindness  began  to  flow 
in  my  veins,  and  to  save  this  clever  landlord  from  making  such  a 
sacrifice,  I  told  him  that  I  could  fill  the  place  of  the  absent  mu- 
sician. To  say  that  he  was  pleased  would  be  putting  it  lightly. 
He  smiled  all  over  his  face  and  I  took  up  the  absent  man's  work, 
and  saved  a  breakup  of  the  ball.  I  lost  my  full  night's  sleep.  I 
got  a  couple  of  hours  sleep  in  the  morning,  and  that  landlord  charg- 
ed me  50  cents  for  supper,  50  cents  for  lodging  and  50  cents  for 
breakfast,  and  I  paid  it  without  a  word— just  the  same  as  he  al- 
ways had  charged  me  when  I  had  not  saved  $100  for  him.  How- 
ever this  fiddler  never  stayed  another  night  at  that  hotel  after 
paying  for  the  privilege  of  saving  the  collapse  of  the  big  ball. 

Now,  for  the  purpose  of  showing  the  hardships  and  trials  of  the 
early  settlers  in  this  part  of  the  country,  I  recite  one  circumstance 
which  came  to  my  own  family.  Many  years  before  the  Philadel- 
phia &  Erie  railroad  was  built  through  Garland,  my  folks  lived 
there,  wnen  I  was  a  boy  8  years  old,  73  years  ago.  Flour  of  all 
kinds  became  scarce.  There  was  none  to  be  found  in  the  valley  of 
the  Brokenstraw;  none  of  the  stores  the  whole  length  of  the  valley 
had  any  meal  of  any  kind.  Our  folks  had  used  the  last  in  the 
house  and  starvation  stared  us  in  the  face.  We  had  kind  neigh- 
bors, but  they  were  nearly  as  bad  off  as  we  were,  so  we  could  not 
rely  upon  borrowing.  The  morning  after  the  last  flour  had  been 
used  my  father,  very  much  discouraged,  started  out  from  home  to 


A  GREEDY  LANDLORD  43 

see  his  neighbors  and  talk  with  them.  The  first  neighbor  he  met 
told  him  that  a  man  from  Titusville  was  coming  that  day  to  the 
valley  of  the  Brokenstraw  with  a  wagon  load  of  flour.  The  man 
was  to  take  the  shortest  route  through  Enterprise  and  over  Cole 
Hill,  leaving  about  four  miles  to  be  traveled  to  reach  the  route  of , 
the  ''bread  line.''  My  faithful  father  took  the  tramp  with  an 
empty  bag  on  his  arm  and  reached  a  place  on  the  Titusville  road 
called  the  "Birch  Springs"  before  the  eagerly  looked  for  wagon 
came  along.  When  it  did  arrive  father  purchased,  at  a  high  price, 
100  pounds  of  nice  wheat  flour  and  carried  it  on  his  shoulder  the 
four  miles  to  his  anxiously  waiting  wife  and  three  children.  We — 
the  children — looked  upon  our  father  as  a  sort  of  saviour,  and  our 
exclamations  of  joy  must  bave  been  to  him  part  pay  for  his  labor  of 
love.  YoU;  of  the  present  age  of  all  kinds  of  vehicles,  can  form 
but  a  faint  conception  of  the  labor  and  suffering  of  the  early  pio- 
neers of  this  country.  I^ong  before  the  discovery  of  oil  or  gas,  O, 
what  a  change!  In  the  days  spoken  of  above  in  order  to  have  a 
light  at  night  the  housewife  would  melt  a  cake  of  tallow,  saved 
from  butchering  time,  and  pour  it  into  tin  molds — let  it  harden  in 
a  cool  place — warm  it  by  the  wood  fire,  and  pull  them  out  of  the 
molds.  Rather  a  nice  looking  candle  but  a  poor  light  giver.  In 
place  of  matches,  which  were  unknown  then,  a  sliver  would  be 
lighted  in  the  stone  chimney  fireplace  and  applied  to  the  wick  of 
the  candle,  and  an  alleged  light,  which  would  burn  a  little  while, 
would  be  produced.  Every  now  and  then  the  tallow  would  burn 
too  far  below  the  top  of  the  wick.  The  light  would  be  too  dim 
for  weak  eyes,  then  a  pair  of  iron  nippers  would  be  used  in  clipping 
off  the  burnt  wick  surplus.  I  can  almost  see  the  change  uqw 
that  would  take  place  in  the  light  as  I  sat  reading,  when  someone 
would  say  ''Snuff  the  candle."  Another  way  of  making  candles 
was  to  tie  cotton  wicks  about  two  inches  apart  on  sticks  and  dip 
a  dozen  at  a  time  in  the  hot  tallow,  and  after  the  tallow  cooled  dip 
again,  and  continue  to  dip  and  cool  until  the  candle  was  large 
enough  to  suit  the  taste  of  the  dipper,  then  lay  them  away  for  use. 
This  last  mentioned  was  named  "a  tallow  dip."  One  of  these 
made  about  as  much  light  as  a  full  grown  lightening  bug.  Com- 
pare this  manner  of  lighting  with  the  present  manner.  Now  you 
strike  a  friction  match  and  touch  to  the  wick  of  your  gas  fixture 
and  instantaneously  your  room  is  as  light  as  day.  And  if  you  are 
too  lazy  to  turn  it  off  when  you  retire  let  it  burn — it  needs  no  snuff- 
ing if  it  burns  a  month  or  a  year.  The  difference  between  "the 
light  of  other  days"  and  the  present  is  beyond  my  ability  to  de- 
scribe. 


44  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

And  there  is  still  more  difference  in  the  heating  ofia  house. 
Then,  no  matter  how  deep  the  snow,  the  oxen  were  yoked  up  and 
driven  to  the  nearby  woods.  A  hardwood  tree,  maple,  beech, 
birch,  hickory,  oak,  ash,  or  any  hardwood  that  encumbered  the 
ground  was  used.  The  driver  of  the  oxen  would  chop  a  tree  down, 
trim  the  limbs  off  from  bottom  to  top,  hitch  the  ox  chain  to  it  and 
take  the  whole  tree  to  the  house  and  ^'the  man  of  the  house"  would 
chop  it  up  to  the  desired  length' (generally  about  four  feet,  owing 
to  the  size  of  the  open  fireplace).  You  begin  to  think  now  that 
these  fire  logs  would  have  a  little  snow  on  them.  Well,  you  make 
a  good  guess.  When  you  put  those  logs  upon  the  live  coals  you 
could  hardly  distinguish  those  logs  from  snow  balls,  but  by  adding 
a  little  dry  kindling  wood  to  this  snow-fire  a  warm  room  would 
soon  be  the  result.  The  half  is  not  told  yet.  No  stoves  were  in 
use  then.  The  danger  of  sparks  flying  out  of  that  open  fireplace 
at  night  was  a  sleep  destroyer  for  nervous  people,  but  custom  will 
do  great  things  and  as  all  were  accustomed  to  this  danger  a  great 
majority  of  the  people  gave  it  but  little  thought.  They  got  used 
to  it  like  the  people  of  Etna  and  Vesuvius,  who  build  the  villages 
on  the  courses  of  the  dry  lava  streams.  I  never  lost  a  moment's 
sleep  by  reason  of  the  thought  that  a  spark  might  come  sailing 
across  the  room  at  any  time  and  make  a  bonfire  of  my  bed.  Many 
is  the  time  that  I  have  heard  the  snap  of  the  red  hot  log  and  saw 
the  burning  coal  light  on  the  floor  without  any  nervousness  on  my 
part.  Each  chimney  had  a  stone  hearth  from  two  to  four  feet 
wide  for  the  sparks  and  coals  to  fall  upon,  trusting  to  the  Great 
Ruler  of  All  Things  to  arrest  the  flight  of  sparks  or  coals  before  it 
passed  over  these  flat  stone  protectors.  But  as  all  old  settlers  are 
aware,  the  coal  was  governed  by  force  that  sent  it.  As  many 
passed  beyond  this  imaginary  line  as  stopped  on  the  hearth,  but 
as  there  were  no  carpets  the  danger  of  firing  the  house  was  much 
lessened.  I  have  many  and  many  a  time  seen  a  parlor  floor  cov- 
ered with  black  spots  caused  by  hot  coals  not  hot  enough 
to  bum  clear  through  an  inch  board  and  set  the  house  on  fire.  And 
strange  to  say,  there  were  but  few  of  those  log  dwellings  burned 
from  the  cause  mentioned  above.  This  statement  is  hardly  be- 
lieveable  under  the  circumstances.  How  could  any  one  of  the 
present  day,  go  off  up  stairs  and  quietly  lie  down  and  go  to  sleep 
to  the  music  of  popping  logs  and  flying  coals  down  stairs  ?  Al- 
though familiarized  when  young  it  would  disturb  my  nervous  sys- 
tem now  when  old.  '-'■:■■■     ^.  ^'^ 

Before'Jleaving  this  firewood  question,  I  will  just  tell  "one"fon 
the  old  settlers.     They  never,  except  a^very^^small  number,  cut 


A  GREEDY  LANDLORD  46 

their  firewood  a  few  months  in  advance  and  let  it  dry  befor  using. 
They  cut  their  wood — a  tree  at  a  time — as  described  above,  all 
winter  long,  instead  of  cutting  it  about  a  third  of  a  year  before 
burning  and  letting  it  dry  and  then  putting  it  under  a  roof  where 
no  snow  could  reach  it,  thus  saving  the  trouble  of  compelling  green 
wood  to  burn,  and  saving  dollars  and  dollars.  I'll  explain.  With 
green  wood  when  you  want  a  little  fire  you  must  build  a  big  fire. 
You  must  put  in  lots  of  kindling,  then  pile  on  many  sticks  of  green 
wood  before  you  can  possibly  get  a  fire  hot  enough  to  boil  a  tea- 
kettle. In  the  summer  time  you  have  a  hot  fire,  in  a  hot  house, 
and  must  wait  until  it  burns  itself  out  when  you  have  no  use  for  it. 
On  the  other  hand,  you  can  lay  one  stick  on  a  few  remaining  coals 
and  it  will  blaze  up  immediately  and  boil  your  teakettle,  and  one 
stick  of  wood  is  soon  consumed  and  you  have  a  cool  house.  No 
6ne  can  afford  to  burn  green  wood.  The  cost  is  more  than  double, 
to  say  nothing  about  the  convenience  of  the  dry  wood.  As  in 
nearly  eyerything,  there  has  been  a  great  change  in  the  wood  busi- 
ness. Now  a  large  majority  of  the  farmers  cut  their  wood,  dry  it, 
and  house  it  as  carefully  as  they  do  their  hay  for  their  stock, 
thus  keeping  pace  with  the  improvements  of  the  age.  Now  and 
then  a  farmer  sticks  to  the  old  wasteful  way  of  "from  hand  to 
mouth."  What  I  have  been  saying  does  not,  of  course,  apply  to 
us  lucky  ones  who  live  along  natural  gas  lines.  All  we  have  to  do 
is  to  touch  a  match  to  our  gas  burner  in  a  stove  and  instantly  we 
have  a  fire  that  will  burn  without  touching  again  f ?  r  a  day,  week, 
month,  year  or  five  years.  How  is  it  possible  to  appreciate  nat- 
ural gas  for  cooking,  lighting  or  heating  ?  Our  minds  are  not 
capable  of  measuring  the  distance  between  80  years  ago  and  to-day 
in  the  question  of  light  and  heat.  I  have  left  out  a  part  of  this 
article.  But  it  is  not  too  late  yet  to  make  amends.  I  men- 
tioned the  fact  of  no  matches  being  invented,  in  the  old  times, 
but  failed  to  describe  the  substitute.  We  took  a  piece  of  hard 
stone  called  a  flint,  then  struck  the  flint  with  the  back  of  a  knife, 
or  any  piece  of  steel,  a  slanting  blow  and  the  fire  would  fly,  drop- 
ping onto  a  piece  of  punk  held  under  the  flint.  How  often  have  I 
seen  men  "striking  fire"  when  not  a  live  coal  could  be  found  about 
the  house !  Everybody  depended  upon  the  flint  as  we  now  depend 
upon  matches.  The  punk  that  was  used  to  catch  the  fire  from  the 
sparks  was  but  rotten  knots  taken  from  old  hardwood  logs  and 
dried  and  kept  as  carefuUy  as  we  now  keep  matches.  Hunters  in 
the  woods  were  never  without  the  punk  and  flint.  In  fact,  anyone 
who  ever  expected  to  need  a  fire  carried  these  two  things.  I  can- 
not say  where  the  flint  came  from,  but  they  wei^e  made  of  very 


46  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

hard  stone,  as  clear  and  resembling  common  glass.     The  flint  in 
flintlock  guns  was  made  of  the  same  material. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

WHEN  OIL  CITY  WAS  A  SHANTY  TOWN. 

WTien  I  was  younger  than  I  am  now,  and  when  Oil  City  was 
younger  than  it  is  now,  I  helped  ''Smith  &  Allison"  in  their  lum- 
ber business  all  one  summer.  The  manner  of  handling  lumber  at 
that  time  was  crude  in  the  extreme.  A  raft  would  be  run  down 
the  river  and  tied  up  below  the  old  grist  mill.  As  no  such  a  thing 
as  a  brick  house  was  thought  of  at  that  time,  a  large  number  of 
boards  were  used  in  building  what  passed  for  a  dwelling  place. 
These  houses  were  constructed  by  putting  up  a  frame  of  hewed 
pine  timbers — no  scantling  balloon  frames  were  in  vogue  at  that 
time — then  nailing  rough  boards  on  the  outside,  after  which  ''bat- 
tens," about  three  inches  wide,  were  nailed  over  the  cracks.  Lath- 
ing and  plastering  were  not  a  part  of  the  make-up  of  an  ordinary 
dwelling  house  at  that  time.  When  the  mercury  fell  to  zero,  ac- 
companied by  a  north  wind.  Jack  Frost  fond  it  easy  to  penetrate 
the  best  abodes  of  the  few  beople  living  within  the  limits  of  the 
present  Oil  City  of  fine,  warm  homes.  Store  rooms  and  all  busi- 
ness places  were  constructed  in  the  manner  described  above.  When 
nothing  but  Cranberry  coal  and  wood  were  used  for  heating  pur- 
poses, the  reader  has  only  to  guess  at  the  discomforts  of  the  pion- 
eers. No  anthracite  coal — no  railroad  to  bring  it  in — no  electric 
lights,  no  gas  lights,  and  none  but  oil  lamps,  fashioned  in  a  crude 
state,  was  the  fate  of  the  founders  of  Oil  City.  Many  old  people 
are  alive  to-day  who  can  appreciate  what  is  printed  here,  but  the 
young  folks  of  the  present  will  simply  have  to  guess  at  the  hard- 
ships and  inconveniences  of  "Old  Times  in  Oildom."  It  is  not 
possible  for  me  to  guide  my  awkward  pencil  in  giving  a  description 
of  all  the  hardships  endured  by  the  founders  of  this  tremendous 
and  present  great  oil  business.  Just  let  the  rising  generation  look 
at  the  Oil  City  of  to-day,  and  then  let  them  try  to  imagine  how  the 
people  got  along  without  a  bridge  of  any  kind  across  the  river — 
only  one  little  chain  ferry,  nearly  up  to  Siverly ville ;  an  island  in 
the  middle  of  the  river,  about  where  the  covered  bridge  now  stands ; 
an  island  covered  with  a  crop  of  corn,  accessible  to  skiffs.  One 
could  row  a  skiff  from  the  north  side  of   the  river  to  this  island, 


WHEN  OIL  CITY  WAS  A  SHANTY  TOWN  47 

then  lead  it  through  the  eddy  at  the  lower  end  of  the  cornfield, 
then  from  there  to  the  south  side  of  the  river,  thus  getting  across 
the  Allegheny  without  paying  a  chain  ferry  fee.  But  what  would 
anyone  go  across  for  ?  They  would  only  see  one  farm,  with  one 
old  house,  and  barn  to  match,  on  that  side  of  the  river.  But  few 
people  crossed  the  river,  owing  to  the  fact  that  there  were  but  few 
people  to  cross.  Well,  I'm  wandering  again;  I'll  get  back  to  the 
^  arly  lumber  business. 

"Smith  &  Allison's"  lumber  yard  was  located  where  the  Arling- 
ton hotel  now  stands.  Not  all  the  lumber  they  handled  was  piled 
there.  The  largest  share  of  it  was  sold  on  the  river  beach.  A 
teamster  would  back  his  wagon  down  into  the  water,  against  the 
raft,  and  load  the  lumber  on  the  wagon,  and  drive  directly  to  the 
spot  where  it  was  used,  thereby  saving  a  double  handling.  My 
business  was  to  measure  the  lumber  as  fast  as  loaded,  and  report 
at  the  office.  The  office  was  located  just  about  where  the  obliging 
clerk  of  the  Arlington  now  rakes  in  the  sheckles.  One  teamster, 
in  particular  deserves  ''special  mention"  here.  He  was  familiar- 
ly called  ''Nigger  Jim."  He  was  a  well-to-do  colored  man.  He 
owned  the  team  of  horses  that  he  drove,  and  a  house  and  lot,  about 
half  way  to  Siverly.  Jim  worked  like  a  man  of  business.  When 
he  was  wanted  he  was  always  there.  He  had  a  black  skin  but  a 
white  heart.  It  was  necessary  to  wade  in  the  water  while  getting 
the  bottom  course  of  each  raft,  and  float  the  boards  to  shore,  so 
that  a  teamster  would  keep  his  feet  dry.  This  wetting  of  feet 
came  to  the  measurer  as  an  offset  to  the  easy  work  that  was  his. 
For  several  days  I  was  "rather  under  the  weather"  and  hardly 
able  to  work.  This  came  to  Jim's  ears,  and  he,  unasked,  jumped 
into  the  water  and  for  a  week  he  would  not  let  me  get  my  feet  wet. 
I  never  met  Jim  afte;  that  without  giving  him  the  warm  hand  of 
fellowship.  For  man  y  years  I  have  not  met  Jim.  I  don't  know 
whether  he  is  alive  or  n.jt,  but  I  hope  is  alive  and  prospering  as  of 
old.  Perhaps  there  are  teamsters  with  a  white  skin  that  would  be 
just  as  kind  under  the  circumstances,  but  I  never  happened  to 
find  them..  The  kind  deeds  of  "Nigger  Jim"  will  never  vanish 
from  my  memory. 

Ballard's  barrel  piles  were  one  of  the  many  wonders  of  the  oil 
business.  Empty  oil  barrels  were  made  up  the  river  somewhere,  in 
"York  State" — and  tied  together,  in  great  rafts,  and  floated  to  Oil 
City.  One  "barrel  yard"  was  located  just  across  the  street  in 
front  of  where  the  Arlington  now  stands.  I  will  not  try  to  give 
the  height  of  the  pile  of  barrels,  generally  on  hand,  but  will  say 
that  thetip  top  of  the  pile  pointed  skyward,  to  about  the  same  de- 


48  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

gree  as  the  present  Chambers  block.  Mr.  Ballard's  barrels  found 
a  ready  sale,  until  the  advent  of  tank  cars  and  pipe  lines.  Then 
the  great  pile  melted  away  and  ga^  e  place  to  large  business  blocks, 
which  are  an  honor  to  the  city  and  a  source  of  income  to  the  own- 
ers. 

To  return  to  Smith  &  Allison.  Mr.  Smith  built  the  first  dwelling 
house  on  Cottage  hill.  The  people  called  him  a  '^fool  for  building 
up  in  that  cornfield,"  where  he  would  be  compelled  to  walk — or 
climb  to  his  rather  imposing  looking  home.  Years,  and  years 
ago,  Mr.  Smith  crossed  over  tlie  divide — passed  through  St.  Peter's 
gate.  He  was  the  very  personification  of  honesty  and  uprightness. 
Mr.  Allison  is  still  in  the  land  of  the  living,  and  seems  to  be  enjoy- 
ing himself.  He  lives  off  west,  somewhere,  but  came  back  to 
Franklin  a  couple  of  years  ago,  and  made^one  of  the  best  speeches 
of  the  occasion  of  Old  Home  week.  Thousands  of  his  hearers 
will  bear  me  out  in  saying  this.  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  him 
at  the  house  of  a  relative  of  his,  at  Salina,  Pa.,  when  he  was  making 
that  eastern  visit.  I  was  surprised  to  find  him  the  same  *'Doc" 
Allison  of  old.  Some  men  never  get  old,  and  ''Doc"  is  one  of  them. 
The  Derrick  published  his  "Old  Home  Week  speech"  at  the  time, 
as  doubtless  its  readers  remember  the  speech.  It  was  full  of  good 
things  from  first  to  last. 

Before  leaving  the  lumber  question  I  will  mention  a  little  tran- 
saction that  does  not  savor  of  square  dealing. 

I  landed  a  river  ''fleet"  of  square  pine  building  timber  in  Oil 
Creek  eddy,  or  rather  in  the  mouth  of  Oil  Creek.  It  was  for  sale. 
A  man  came  up  from  Franklin,  who  owned  a  lumber  yard  in  the 
"Nursery  of  Great  Men,"  and  looking  all  over  the  raft,  made  an 
offer  for  it  which  I  accepted.  I  agreed  to  run  the  timber  to  Frank- 
lin, the  next  day,  which  I  did,  and  landed  it  at  the  junction  of  the 
river  and  French  Creek  as  directed  by  the  man — I  will  not  call 
him  a  gentleman — paid  off  the  men  who  helped  me  run  the  raft, 
walked  over  French  creek  to  this  man's  lumber  yard  and  notified 
him  of  the  arrival  of  his  timber.  "All  right,  I  will  go  right  over 
with  you"  was  his  answer.  When  we  arrived  on  the  raft  he  made 
this  most  unexpected  speech  "This  timber  is  too  old.  It  must 
have  been  cut  last  winter.  I  will  not  accept  it."  I  told  him  the 
timber  was  cut  in  the  winter  but  it  was  not  quite  a  day  older  than 
when  he  bought  it.  I  told  the  man  I  was  below  the  market  now, 
as  I  could  have  sold  it  at  Oil  City,  where  they  were  using  such 
timber  in  large  quantities.  The  man  still  refused  to  take  it.  I 
thought  I  was  completely  "hoodooed."  I  started  for  town  using 
language  for  the  benefit  of  my  timber  customer  that  I  would  not 


HIGH  STANDARD  OFFICIALS  49 

like  to  see  in  print.  He  started  with  me  to  return  to  town,  but  I 
would  not  be  seen  in  his  company  going  into  Franklin.  I  walked 
faster  than  he  and  with  a  ''Benediction"  left  him  far  in  the  rear, 
but  fortune  favored  me  after  all  this  treachery.  I  sold  my  raft  to 
the  city  of  Franklin  the  same  day  for  crosswalks  for  $50  more  than 
the  rascally  lumber  yard  man  agreed  to  give  me.  Now,  dear  read- 
er, what  do  you  think  of  that  for  a  display  of  cheek? 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

HIGH   STANDARD   OFFICIALS   WHO  ARE   NATIVES  OF 
BROKENSTRAW  VALLEY. 

Perhaps  it  will  be  news  to  many  readers  to  mention  the  fact  that 
the  Brokenstraw  valley  is  the  only  valley  along  the  Allegheny 
river  from  Kittaning  to  Coudersport  that  has  not  produced  oil  in 
paying  quantities.  It  has  produced  oil  operators.  John  L.  Mc- 
Kinney,  J.  C.  McKinney  and  ''Cal"  Payne  are  Brokenstraw  pro- 
ductions. All  three  were  reared  about  three  miles  from  Youngs- 
ville.  ''Curt"  McKinney  and  "Cal."  were  considered  good  average 
little  boys,  but  John  L.  McKinney  was  somewhat  different  from 
the  common  run  of  boys.  He  always  was  a  little  on  the  dude 
order.  Other  boys  who  were  not  inclined  to  put  on  airs  like  John 
poked  fun  at  him.  Little  they  dreamed  of  him  outstripping  them 
all.  No  doubt  but  that  he  could  now  buy  and  sell  the  whole  batch 
of  those  boys  who  at  that  time  tried  to  hold  their  heads  higher.  In 
fact,  he  could  buy  the  Brokenstraw  valley  and  have  a  good  wad  of 
pocket  change  left.  This  is  a  changeable  world.  From  boyhood 
to  old  age  makes  changes  that  are  hardly  believable.  John  was 
always  on  hand  at  the  balls  that  were  very  numerous  in  his  boy- 
hood days  and  on  account  of  fine  dressing  and  pleasant  manners 
he  was  a  great  favorite  among  the  fair  sex.  The  writer  of  this  has 
helped  to  make  music  (such  as  it  was)  for  John  to  trip  the  light 
fantastic  toe  many  and  many  a  night.  No  one  thought  at  that 
time  that  he  had  a  business  streak  running  through  him  that  in 
after  years  would  make  him  a  power  in  the  financial  world.  And 
"Curt  McKinney,"  although  a  more  sedate  boy  than  some  of  his 
young  companions,  has  "surprised  the  natives."  Both  of  these 
brothers  belong  to  an  oil  family.  This  family  of  James  McKinney, 
one  of  the  pioneers  of  the  Brokenstraw  and  Warren  county,  I 


50  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

might  say,  are  a  family  of  oil  workers  and  have  done  more  than 
their  share  to  make  the  oil  business  what  it  is  to-day.  The  family 
consisted  of  six  boys  and  one  girl,  and  the  girl  married  an  oil  man 
of  Meadville.  Colonel  Drake  did  not  know  the  opportunity  he 
was  giving  to  develop  some  energetic  intelligent  families  when  he 
opened  up  this  world-wide  business  near  the  city  of  Titusville.  If 
Mr.  Drake  had  lived  to  the  present  time  he  could  not  help  feeling 
proud  to  think  of  the  growth  of  the  business  that  his  busy  brain 
laid  the  foundation  for.  If  any  one  had  told  of  what  the  oil  busi- 
ness would  come  to,  the  morning  after  the  Drake  well  was  struck, 
they  would  have  been  pronounced  fit  subjects  for  an  insane  asylum. 
I  must  not  leave  out  the  boy  ''Cal"  Payne.  He  always  had  an  old 
head  on  his  shoulders  and  was  always  doing  something  that  boys 
in  general  could  not  do.  He  first  surprised  the  denizens  of  the 
Brokenstraw  valley  by  getting  an  appointment  as  passenger  con- 
ductor of  the  Philadelphia  &  Erie  railroad.  That  was  out  of  the 
ordinary  for  a  farmer  boy  to  take  charge  of  a  passenger  (or  any 
other)  train  on  a  great  railroad.  Well,  reader,  ^'Cal"  was  not 
content  to  punch  tickets  and  be  looked  up  to  as  a  great  man  by 
his  outstripped  companions  and  resigned  and  started  into  the  oil 
business.  Nearly  everyone  who  was  acquainted  with  the  young 
conductor  thought  him  very  foolish  to  leave  his  position  on  the 
railroad  for  the  then  uncertain  oil  business,  but  '^Cal''  knew  what 
he  was  about  and  he  came  up,  up  and  up  until  his  name  as  one  of 
the  high  officers  in  the  Standard  Oil  Company  is  a  household  word 
everywhere  an  oil  derrick  is  to  be  seen  in  this  broad  land  of  ours. 
I  began  this  article  by  telling  the  readers  about  the  barren  oil 
territory  of  the  Brokenstraw  valley.  The  valley  is  not  entirely 
barren  of  oil  and  gas.  About  30  years  ago  Mr.  Nevans,  of  Titus- 
ville, leased  a  lot  of  land  in  Youngsville  and  put  down  a  well  on 
the  John  Siggins  farm,  between  the  P.  &  E.  and  the  D.  A.  V.  &  t. 
railroad  stations.  When  about  900  feet  down  he  struck  some  gas 
and  got  a  one  barrel  well.  As  this  was  not  much  of  a  well  in  the 
days  of  1,000  and  2,000  barrelers,  he  moved  his  tools  about  15  rods 
from  the  location  and  drilled  another  well.  This  was  a  mate  to 
the  first  and  Mr.  Nevans  left  for  richer  fields,  continuing  to  operate 
until  called  to  the  life  beyond.  Before  leaving  Youngsville  he 
told  your  humble  servant  that  there  was  oil  in  the  Brokenstraw 
valley.  His  theory  was  this:  The  rock,  about  40  feet  of  it,  was 
too  hard  for  much  oil  to  come  through,  but  that  more  open  rock 
was  not  far  distant,  else  there  would  be  no  oil  or  gas  seeping 
through.  He  said  that  if  he  knew  which  way  to  go  for  this  loose 
sand  he  would  put  down  another  well,  but  it  was  impossible  for 


HIGH  STANDARD  OFFICIALS  51 

him  or  anybody  else  to  telFwhich  direction  to  take.  Several  wells 
have  been  drilled  since  Mr.  Nevans  left.  All  got  both  oil  and  gas, 
but  not  enough  to  convince  the  owners  that  it  would  pay  to  pump 
them.  Through  all  these  years  some  of  these  wells  have  been 
producing  lightly,  the  oil  being  taken  out  with  a  sand  pump.  No 
well  has  been  tested  yet  in  a  scientific  manner.  Those  interested 
in  oil  matters  are  in  hopes  the  new  methods  of  operating  oil  wells 
will  soon  be  tried  here.  A  Pittsburg  company  has  secured  several 
leases  lately  and  will  commence  operations  very  soon.  It  is  to  be 
hoped  that  the  mile-wide  valley  of  the  Brokenstraw  will  not  be 
left  out  in  the  cold  many  moons  longer.  I  think  that  the  good 
Lord  would  not  place  oil  in  paying  quantities  in  the  valleys  of 
Mahoning,  Redbank,  Bear  Creek,  Clarion,  Scrubgrass,  French 
Creek,  Two  Mile  Run,  Oil  Creek,  Horse  Creek,  Pithole,  Hemlock, 
Tionesta,  West  Hickory,  East  Hickory,  Big  Sandy,  East  Sandy, 
Tidioute,  Dennis  Run,  Kinzua,  Sugar  Run,  Corydon,  Salamanca, 
Olean,  Portville,  Eldred,  Port  Allegany,  Coudersport,  and  all  the 
smaller  streams,  tributary  to  the  Allegheny  river,  from  Kittaning 
to  the  headwaters,  and  leave  the  widest  and  most  beautiful,  the 
Brokenstraw  valley,  minus  this  rich  blessing  of  oil  and  gas. 

I  see  I  have  omitted  in  the  enumeration  of  valleys  the  most 
prolific  of  any — Tunungwant.  Excuse  me,  ye  dwellers  among 
the  never  failing  oil  and  gas  wells  of  McKean  county.  And  even 
if  the  clays  of  one  barrel  wells  ever  come,  Youngsville  and  vicinity 
will  be  oil  producing  territory,  even  if  Mr.  Nevan  should  be  mis- 
taken in  his  loose  sand  prediction.  A  few  years  ago  a  well  was 
drilled  inside  the  borough  line  to  a  depth  of  800  feet,  when  oil  and 
gas  were  struck.  The  gas  blazed  40  or  50  feet  high,  with  a  roar 
that  could  be  heard  at  a  distance  of  a  mile.  Several  barrels  of 
oil  were  thrown  out.  The  driller,  Mr.  Meeley,  had  great  hopes  of 
a  good  paying  well.  The  well  was  shot  and  the  flow  of  gas  was  by 
some  means  shut  off.  Mr.  Meeley  commenced  to  clean  the  well. 
Each  night  40  feet  of  quick  sand  would  run  into  the  hole,  which 
required  a  whole  day  with  the  sand  pumps  to  remove.  This  kept 
up  for  a  week,  when  the  superintendent  abandoned  the  well  with 
40  feet  of  quicksand  in  the  hole.  Mr.  Meeley  was  so  much  chagrined 
by  this  order  of  the  superintendent  that  he  (Mr.  Meeley)  said  he 
once  had  a  similar  quicksand  job  on  his  hands  and  it  required 
three  weeks  to  exhaust  the  tiuicksand.  When  exhausted  they  had 
a  25-barrel  well.  A  then  resident  of  Youngsville,  a  very  successful 
Cherry  Run  operator,  and  afterwards  a  Tiona  and  Clarendon  op- 
erator, pronounced  this  well  good  for  heating  and  lighting  half  the 
borough  of  Youngsville.     But  for  some  reason  the  superintendent 


52  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

abandoned  this  best  prospect  in  Yoimgsville  and  the  north  and 
west  side  of  the  borough  is  an  uncertainty  up  to  the  present  time. 
A  line  of  wells  had  been  drilled — four  in  number — along  the  Brok- 
enstraw  creek,  each  prospect  nearly  as  good  as  the  last  mentioned, 
but  none  has  had  a  scientific  test,  and  it  is  an  open  question,  which 
could  soon  be  solved,  whether  this  valley  of  the  Brokenstraw  will 
remain  small  territory,  or  take  its  place  among  the  many  pro- 
ductive valleys  along  the  Allegheny  river. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

BIG  THINGS  WHICH  STARTED  IN  WESTERN 
PENNSYLVANIA. 

I  wonder  how  many  of  my  readers  ever  thought  of  how  very  im- 
portant a  part  of  the  country  is  this  section  of  Western  Pennsyl- 
vania. The  writer  of  this  was  born  in  Centerville,  Crawford  coun- 
ty. Pa.  Several  great  things  had  a  beginning  within  a  radius  of 
18  miles  of  this  rather  unpretentious  country  borough. 

First — The  A.  0.  U.  W.,  a  beneficiary  order,  was  organized  a 
few  miles  south  of  Centerville.  Jefferson  lodge.  No.  1,  was  the 
first  fraternal  insurance  lodge  organized  in  the  United  States.  Now 
lodges  are  found  in  every  nook  and  corner  of  this  great  country. 
They  are  numbered  by  the  thousands  and  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  members  have  died,  leaving  their  beneficiaries — widows  and 
children — provided  for,  who,  if  not  for  that  first  organization  of 
the  Ancient  Order  of  United  Workmen,  would  have  been  left 
destitute.  One  hundred  and  seventy  millions  of  dollars  have  been 
paid  by  this  order  to  stricken  families  where  the  Great  Reaper  has 
entered  the  homes.  Reader,  just  try  for  a  moment  to  estimate 
how  many  little  children  would  have  been  ragged  and  hungry, 
who  have  been  clothed  and  fed,  to-day  if  it  had  not  been  for  the 
A.  O.  U.  W.  And  not  only  this  but  other  fraternal  orders,  taking 
the  cue  from  this  pioneer  order,  have  multiplied  until  now  over 
200  different  associations,  of  different  names,  flourish  in  America, 
with  over  7,000,000  members,  paying  about  $80,000,000  yearly. 
All  from  that  little  start  of  eight  men,  led  by  John  J.  Upchurch, 
of  Meadville,  40  years  ago. 

Second — The  first  fraternal  dollar  was  paid  18  miles  north  of 
Centerville,  at  Corry,  Erie  county,  Pa.     Lodge  No.  1  at  Meadville 


ORIGINAL  WITH  WESTERN  PENN'A.  53 

was  the  first  lodge  organized,  but  it  did  not  have  the  first  death. 
Lodge  No.  2  was  located  at  Corry  and  had  the  first  death.  At 
that  time  the  two  lodges  had  260  members.  The  assessment  on 
the  death  of  a  member  was  $1  for  each  member.  This  assessment 
was  always  paid  in  advance.  So,  you  can  see,  that  there  was  $250 
lying  in  the  treasury  at  Meadville,  awaiting  a  death  to  take  place. 
At  that  time  the  plans  of  the  order  were  in  a  very  crude  state. 
Members  joined  for  the  first  three  years  existence  of  the  society  with- 
out a  medical  examination.  People  by  the  hundreds  were  saying 
that  after  the  first  death  and  the  first  assessment  had  been  paid  out, 
no  more  money  would  be  paid  in.  So,  after  due  consideration,  so 
the  story  runs,  the  Corry  lodge  agreed  to  make  a  test.  They  in- 
itiated an  old  fellow  who  was  nearly  gone  with  consumption.  He 
died  in  about  three  weeks,  and  the  recorder  of  the  lodge,  Mr.  Fen- 
ton,  of  Jamestown,  N.  Y.,  who  now  runs  a  pail  factory  at  that 
place,  but  who  lived  at  Corry  at  that  time,  took  the  $250  to  the 
home  of  the  widow.  The  ''smarties"  lost  their  guess.  Not  a  mem- 
ber of  the  250  failed  to  pay  in  their  dollar  assessment,  and,  beyond 
the  most  ardent  dreams  of  the  members,  the  income  of  the  order, 
in  place  of  $250,  is  now  nearly  a  million  dollars  a  month. 

Third — The  first  oil  well  was  found  at  Titusville,  Pa.,  10  miles 
from  Centerville,  on  the  edge  of  Venango  county,  Pa.  I  need  not 
say  that  from  one  little  Drake  well  blessings  far  beyond  description 
have  come  to  the  world.  And  right  here  let  me  call  your  atten- 
tion to  the  point  that  the  hand  of  Providence  must  have  guided 
the  hand  of  Mr.  Drake.  He  drilled  his  first  well  on  the  only  spot 
where  he,  with  his  limited  means,  could  have  secured  oil  in  paying 
quantities.  Had  he  drilled  his  well  on  any  other  spot,  we  poor 
mortals  would  now  be  warmed  by  coal  and  wood,  and  we  would  be 
writing  at  night,  by  the  light  of  a  pitch  pine  knot  or  an  old  glass 
lamp  covered  with  soot  or  grease,  or  by  the  light  of  tallow  candles, 
or  some  other  kind  of  an  arrangement.  Mr.  Drake  had  only 
enough  money,  by  being  helped,  to  put  a  well  down  70  feet,  where 
would  he  have  been  if  he  had  been  obliged  to  go  thrice  that  dis- 
tance ?  The  answer  is:  He  would  have  quit  before  another  70 
feet  was  drilled.'  Compare  the  tools  that  Mr.  Drake  was  obliged 
to  use  with  the  improved  tools  of  the  present,  and  what  is  your 
conclusion  ?  I  claim  to  know  something  of  what  I  am  talking 
about.  Just  after  the  Drake  well  was  struck  the  quiet  but  ener- 
getic John  B.  Duncan,  of  East  Titusville,  a  cousin  of  mine,  took  it 
into  his  head  to  kick  down  a  well  on  Pine  creek.  I  helped  him 
six  weeks  with  his  laudable  undertaking  at  the  princely  wages  of 
75  cents  per  da        You  had  better  believe  that  during  that  six 


64  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

weeks  John  and  I  did  some  kicking  and  twisting  of  sucker  rods.  I 
left  John  at  the  end  of  six  weeks  to  work  out  his  own  salvation,  and 
with  a  few  weeks  more  of  hard  kicking  he  was  rewarded  with  a  five 
barrel  well.  Oil  was  at  a  good  price  at  that  time,  and  John  made 
a  little  money  as  a  reward  for  his  perseverance.  John  was  almost 
a  brother  of  mine.  When  he  was  born  his  mother  died.  I  was 
only  1 1  months  old  at  the  time  and  m}^  mother,  who  was  a  sister  to 
John's  mother,  took  care  of  us  both.  Good  woman  that  she  was, 
she  managed  to  bring  us  both  to  the  six-foot  notch.  I  always  felt 
as  though  John  was  my  half-brother.  I  think  every  man,  woman 
and  child  in  Titusville  knew  and  respected  him.  He  was  a  walk- 
ing encyclopedia.  He  would  take  the  time  any  day  to  impart  in- 
formation concerning  the  old  settlers  of  Oil  Creek.  Several  years 
ago  he  passed  away. 

When  we  sum  it  all  up,  where  can  we  find  another  part  of  the 
United  States  where  such  godsends  have  taken  root  within  a  radius 
of  35  miles  ?  Meadville,  Corry  (Corry  paid  the  first  fraternal  in- 
surance dollar  in  the  United  States)  and  Titusville  are  names  to 
be  emblazoned  on  the  pages  of  fame.  Do  you  blame  me  for  feeling 
a  trifle  proud  of  being  born  at  Centerville,  about  the  middle  of  this 
triangle  of  little  cities  ?  Right  close  to  Titusville  lived  Henry  R. 
Rouse,  at  Enterprise,  Pa.,  four  miles  from  the  Drake  well.  The 
lively  suburb  of  Oil  City — Rouseville — took  his  name.  But  to  go 
back  a  little.  Young  Rouse  came  to  Enterprise,  Pa.,  when  but  a 
schoolboy.  He  soon  pitched  into  the  lumber  business  and 
turned  the  tall  pine  trees  into  money.  He  displayed  great  apti- 
tude, and  the  people  of  Warren  county  sent  him — the  boy  repre- 
sentative— to  the  state  assembly.  He  soon  made  himself  felt  in 
legislative  affairs.  About  the  time  his  term  of  law-making  in 
Harrisburg  expired,  the  oil  business  electrified  the  world.  Young 
Rouse  took  a  lease  of  the  Buchanan  farm,  on  which  Rouseville 
now  stands,  and  commenced  successful  operations.  When  noth- 
ing but  brightness  and  prosperity  stared  him  in  the  face,  one  of 
his  wells  caught  fire,  and  he,  with  many  others — Willis  Benedict, 
one  of  Titusville' s  prominent  men  was  among  the  number — was 
fearfully  burned.  Mr.  Rouse  lived  but  two  hours  after  the  acci- 
dent, but  in  that  short  space  of  time  he  made  a  will  that  could  not 
be  improved  if  he  had  given  it  a  month's  study.  He  was  a  single 
man  with  no  relatives  but  his  old  father.  After  providing  for  his 
parent,  he  bequeathed  to  Warren  county  the  remainder  of  his 
lumber  and  oil  property.  Half  the  interest  of  his  fortune  he  want- 
ed used  for  the  benefit  of  the  poor  and  the  other  half  to  be  used  for 
building  9-  court  house,  and  for  building  iron  bridges  and  othei: 


GOULD  NOT  GIVE  HIS  HILLSIDE  AWAY  55 

road  improvements  in  Warren  county.  The  voters  of  the  county 
were  amply  rewarded  for  sending  him  to  the  legislature  when  he 
was  but  a  boy.  Warren  county  has  had  no  poor  tax  to  pay  and 
but  few  iron  bridges  to  build  since  the  flames  burned  out  the  life 
of  that  noble,  enterprising  young  man — Henry  R.  Rouse.  Pas- 
sengers passing  through  Youngsville  on  either  the  Lake  Shore  or 
Philadelphia  &  Erie  roads  can  see  from  the  train  the  county  poor 
farm  and  the  Rouse  hospital,  erected  by  the  bequests  of  this  man. 
A  marble  monument  stands  on  the  lawn  in  front  of  the  hospital 
to  commemorate  his  memory.  Although  of  a  respectable  size,  it 
is  not  half  as  large  as  it  should  be,  when  compared  with  the  prince- 
ly fortune  left  for  generations  yet  unborn. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

COULD  NOT  GIVE  HIS  ROCKY  HILLSIDE  AWAY. 

In  this  chapter  I  will  mention  the  "on  to  Buffalo"  business. 
When  the  Dunkirk,  Allegheny  Valley  &  Pittsburg  railroad  was  be- 
ing built,  the  Buffalo  and  Titusville  people  were  very  eager  for  the 
road.  They  expected  that  a  competing  line  would  be  built  from 
Titusville  to  Oil  City,  connecting  with  the  Lake  Shore  branch  to 
Ashtabula,  O.  If  this  could  have  been  carried  out  to  the  Lake 
Shore,  as  it  is  now  called,  it  would  probably  have  been  a  better 
paying  road  to-day.  This  route  would  have  given  a  traveler  from 
the  east  to  the  west  a  trunk  line  ride  through  the  oil  region  instead 
of  going  up  the  lake,  where  not  a  derrick  is  to  be  seen.  But  the 
managers  of  the  old  W.  N.  Y.  &  P.  put  up  the  bars  by  laying 
down  a  track  on  the  east  side  of  Oil  Creek  to  hold  the  right  of  way 
against  all  comers.  I  write  this  to  show  the  moves  on  the  railroad 
checker  board.  I  never  saw  in  my  limited  travels  a  railroad  built 
such  a  distance  and  lie  unused  until  the  ties  rotted  under  the  rails 
except  in  this  one  case.  Perhaps  the  embargo  will  be  lifted  some 
day  and  that  link  in  the  line  of  17  miles  will  be  put  in.  But  even 
with  this  drawback,  the  D.  A.  V.  &  P.  road  was  needed  between 
Titusville  and  Dunkirk  to  take  care  of  the  Chautauqua  Lake  and 
Lily  Dale  travel,  the  local  business  all  along  a  good  farming  coun- 
try, including  Warren  and  Youngsville,  and  the  oil  and  lumber 
trade  of  Grand  Valley.  The  smoke  has  ceased  to  pour  forth  from 
the  stacks  at  the  lumber  mills,  as  is  always  the  case  at  3(11  lumber 


56  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

camps  in  the  course  of  time,  when  the  timber  is  all  sawed,  and  the 
production  of  oil  and  gas  has  fallen  off  to  a  certain  extent.  But 
it  will  be  many  days  before  all  the  oil  and  gas  is  gone.  Two  of  the 
men  familiar  to  the  lumber  operators  have  handled  their  last  car- 
load of  lumber  and  the  last  barrel  of  oil.  I  allude  to  L.  B.  Wood 
and  Judge  C.  C.  Merritt.  The  judge  left  for  the  untried  land  a 
few  years  ago.  And  let  me  say  the  Judge  was  the  first  to  die  of 
a  most  remarkable  family  of  brothers.  The  judge  had  11  brothers. 
There  were  12,  counting  himself,  in  that  family.  All  lived  to  be 
old  men,  and  not  one  of  the  12  ever  used  tobacco  or  whiskey  in 
any  form.  L.  B.  Wood  was  a  man  who  is  missed.  Indeed  he  was 
in  "Grand  Valley."  W^hen  he  was  gone  the  whole  Valley  seemed 
almost  deserted.  He  did  a  vast  amount  of  business  and  was  a 
leader  indeed.  Wood  left  a  son  (Williston,)  who  has  the  father's 
traits  about  him  to  such  an  extent  that  the  immense  business  of 
his  father  will  not  suffer.  L.  B.  also  left  a  brother,  Frank,  and 
the  large  business  built  up  by  the  lamented  L.  B.  Wood  will  move 
along  without  much  change.  But  the  pleasant  and  business  face 
of  L.  B.  Wood  has  been  missed  in  his  office,  store  and  on  the  streets 
of  Grand  Valley. 

The  first  man  of  Youngsville  who  made  money  at  the  oil  busi- 
ness was  John  Davis,  a  shoe  maker  for  years  before  oil  was  thought 
of.  He  was  born  and  reared  on  a  farm  near  Youngsville.  He' 
by  hard  work,  could  only  make  "both  ends  meet."  He  had  but 
little  money  but  a  good  supply  of  courage.  At  the  very  first  of 
the  developments  at  Tidioute  he  moved  his  family  to  that  town 
and  took  a  lease,  set  up  a  spring  pole  and  pegged  away  until  he 
struck  one  of  those  shallow  wells  that  was  the  fashion,  those  days, 
and  sold  it  for  $6,000.  John  worked  away  until  he  got  money 
enough  ahead  to  live  in  Meadville.  Then  he  took  the  opportun- 
ity and  migrated  to  the  county  seat  of  Crawford  county.  Pa,,  and 
thereafter  rather  dropped  out  of  the  ranks  of  the  numerous  Davis 
f amity  in  Youngsville.  His  interesting  family  received  an  edu- 
cation in  that  college  city  that  they  never  could  have  had  if  they 
had  remained  in  Youngsville.  The  members  of  the  Davis  faniily 
remaining  here  have  always  been  noted  for  their  musical  abilities, 
the  M.  E.  choir  at  one  time  being  entirely  composed  of  Davises. 
It  was  named  "the  Davis  choir."  John's  family  was  not  an  ex- 
ception in  that  respect,  one  of  his  daughters  being  the  organist 
in  Miller  and  Sibley's  Baptist  church  choir  at  Franklin  for  many 
years.  It  may  naturally  be  supposed  that  a  lady  who  can  play  a 
pipe  organ  and  give  perfect  satisfaction  in  the  far-famed  church 
and  Sunday-school  patronized  and  financially  sustained  by  those 


GOULD  NOT  GIVE  HIS  HILLSIDE  AWAY  57 

world-wide  Christian  workers,  Miller  and  Sibley,  is  pretty  well  up 
in  the  music  line.  Well,  the  genial  John  came  from  his  Meadville 
home,  about  two  years  ago,  to  visit  his  numerous  relatives  at 
Youngsville,  at  the  ''ripe  old  age"  of  92  years.  One  of  his  relatives 
was  his  ''Aunt  Prudence,"  but  two  years  his  junior.  He  told  her 
that  he  feared  it  would  be  their  last  visit.  His  fears  were  well 
founded,  as  within  the  next  year  both  were  "sleeping  the  sleep 
that  knows  no  waking." 

Reading  a  few  days  ago,  concerning  R.  K.  Hissam,  the  bank 
president,  reminded  me  of  a  conversation  that  I  had  with  Rev. 
Mr.  Hissam,  who  owned  an  oil  farm  straight  across  the  river  from 
Sistersville,  in  the  state  of  Ohio.  He  gave  me  a  short  history  of 
his  oil  career.  He  was  a  Methodist  Episcopal  minister  and  years 
ago  was  a  "circuit  rider"  on  both  sides  of  the  Ohio  river.  The 
country  stands  on  edge  in  that  section,  and  as  Rev.  Mr.  Hissam 
weighs  over  300  pounds,  riding  up  and  down  these  mountains  was 
very  laborious  for  both  himself  and  his  horse,  the  horse  in  partic- 
ular, and  he  concluded  to  make  a  change.  He  bought  200  acres 
of  sidehill  land,  a  mile  from  the  river,  on  the  Ohio  side,  and  became 
a  Buckeye  farmer.  A  year  or  two  convinced  him  that  he  was  not 
intended  for  a  farmer — certainly  not  for  a  farmer  with  land  that 
stood  edgeways.  He  then  tried  to  sell  his  farm.  Now  came  "the 
tug  of  war."  By  hunting  high  and  low  he  could  find  no  man 
anxious  enough  for  farming  such  a  hillside  willing  to  give  half  the 
amount  he  gave  for  it.  In  other  words  he  could  not  give  it  away. 
He  was  in  for  a  farmer's  life,  and  he  settled  down  to  his  fate.  Then 
oil  was  found  at  Sistersville,  W.  Va.,  and  oil  operators  found  that 
the  oil  belt  did  not  run  with  the  windings  of  the  Ohio  river,  but 
that  it  ran  straight  across  the  river,  through  Mr.  Robison's  600 
acre  farm  about  a  mile  and  then  through  Rev.  Mr.  Hissam's  200 
acre  farm.  The  reverend  gentleman  did  not  have  to  look  after 
buyers  for  his  farm  after  that.  He  leased  it  to  an  oil  company  at 
a  good  royalty,  and  when  I  talked  to  him  his  income  was  about 
$500  a  day,  with  oil  at  60  cents  per  barrel,  and  no  wells  drilled  ex- 
cept protection  wells  half  way  around  the  200  acres.  I  don't 
know  what  his  income  was  when  the  rest  of  the  protection  wells 
were  drilled  and  all  the  center  of  the  200  acres,  and  oil  at  $1.75  per 
barrel.  James  McCray  had  nearly  such  an  experience.  Just  be- 
fore Petroleum  Centre,  Pa.,  became  a  prolific  oil  town,  "Jim" 
owned  a  farm  there  of  about  200  acres.  About  50  acres  was  a  very 
rocky  sidehill.  He  did  not  value  it  enough  to  pay  taxes  on  it. 
He  paid  a  surveyor  for  the  work  of  surveying  off  this  50  acre  piece, 
made  out  the  papers  and  went  to  Franklin  and  put  it  on  the  "\m- 


58  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

seated  list."  The  county  treasurer  learned  that  there  was  an 
error  in  the  transaction,  and  he  refused  to  sell  it  as  "unseated" 
land,  and  dropped  it  from  his  list  and  it  fell  back  into  "Jim's" 
hands  again.  Soon  after  the  "Maple  Shade"  well,  with  its  1000 
barrels  a  day,  was  struck.  When  J.  S.  McCray  related  this  cir- 
cumstance to  me  he  had  leased  this  rocky  sidehill,  in  one  acre 
leases,  at  $3,000  bonus  and  half  the  oil.  Oil  at  that  time  was 
bringing  $3.00  a  barrel.  His  income  from  this  50  acres  of  "unseat- 
ed land,"  not  sold  for  taxes,  was  $5  a  minute, — night  and  day, 
Sundays  included,  all  the  year  around.  Here  the  old  saying  comes 
in  play,  "It  is  better  to  be  bom  lucky  than  rich." 

In  these  articles  I  spoke  of  working  for  Smith  &  Allison  in  their 
lumber  yard  in  Oil  City,  one  summer.  I  have  told  of  Mr.  McCray's 
streak  of  luck.  In  a  very  small  way,  I  had  a  littile  streak  of  luck 
in  the  early  winter  of  that  year.  Now  this  little  sketch  will  look 
insignificant  compared  to  the  one  just  related  above,  but  it  was 
luck  all  the  same.  After  I  finished  up  my  summer's  work  among 
the  board  shanties  of  Oil  City  I  came  home  to  Youngsville  and 
bought  a  couple  of  "creek  pieces"  of  boards  and  a  boat,  such  as 
was  used  to  run  oil  out  of  oil  Creek,  in  bulk,  at  that  time.  When 
ready  to  start  from  Brokenstraw  eddy  I  made  common  cause  with 
J.  C.  and  D.  Mead,  two  brothers  who  had  been  in  the  lumber  bus- 
iness as  partners  for  many  years,  but  at  the  time  mentioned  above 
were  operating  for  oil  at  McClintockville,  a  mile  above  Oil  City. 

I  hitched  onto  their  raft  and  was  accompanied  by  one  of  the 
brothers  to  Oil  City.  We  sold  out  our  lumber  and  oil  boat.  Then 
one  of  the  brothers  went  on  to  Pittsburg  and  sent  me  back  after  a 
few  creek  rafts  that  I  had  formerly  engaged  and  had  come  out  of 
the  Brokenstraw  creek  on  a  sudden  rise  of  water.  We  were  to  be 
partners  in  this  last  mentioned  deal.  When  I  arrived  at  the  Bro- 
kenstraw eddyl  found  the  other  brother  in  possession  of  the  lumber 
I  had  engaged.  Of  course  he  knew  nothing  of  my  claims  to  the 
promise  of  this  lumber  and  ignored  my  claim  to  it.  The  fault  was 
with  the  former  owner  of  the  lumber  in  not  telling  this  brother  up 
here  what  he  had  done.  I  finally  said,  "Am  I  out  of  this  deal  ?" 
The  answer  was,  "You  were  never  in."  Well,  as  rough  oil  country 
lumber  was  nearly  as  scarce  as  hen's  teeth  that  year,  and  I  had 
promised  Smith  &  Allison  the  lumber  that  I  had  engaged,  and  that 
had  slipped  out  of  my  hands  as  slick  as  oil,  I  felt  somewhat  blue — 
not  the  "blue"  that  the  raftsmen  in  general  were  afflicted  with, 
but  the  real  sober  kind.  As  I  stood  on  the  bank  of  the  old  Alle- 
gheny, with  no  pleasant  thoughts  passing  through  my  mind,  I 
cast  my  eyes  in  the  direction  of  the  upper  end  of  the  Brokenstraw 


COULD  NOT  GIVE  HIS  HILLSIDE  AWAY  59 

eddy.  There  I  saw  a  vision  that  roused  my  drooping  spirits.  A 
half  dozen  little  creek  rafts  were  tied  to  the  bank.  I  soon  found 
the  owner.  I  traveled  five  miles  the  next  morning  and  soon  be- 
came the  proprietor  of  those  rafts,  which  were  loaded  with  nice 
pine  shingles.  One  day's  run  put  this  lumber  safely  into  Oil  City. 
It  was  the  night  before  Christmas  and  the  river  was  covered  with 
slush  a  foot  deep  from  shore  to  shore  Christmas  morning.  If  I 
had  been  one  day  later  I  would  not  have  got  that  much  needed 
lumber  into  market  that  winter — perhaps  never — as  the  ice  in  the 
spring  might  have  swept  it  away.  I  settled  with  Smith  &  Allison 
in  the  evening  after  I  landed  the  lumber  and  started  for  Youngs- 
ville  at  4  a.  m.  Christmas  morning,  my  route  being  up  Oil  creek, 
creeping  along  the  shore  of  the  creek  in  places  between  the  high 
mountain  and  the  water's  edge.  When  daylight  came  I  had 
reached  "Tar  farm,"  and  had  enjoyed  a  warm  and  well  cooked 
breakfast  at  the  hotel.  Was  not  that  rather  a  ticklish  job — trav- 
eling up  along  the  fearfully  rough  bank — part  of  the  time  through 
woods  and  darkness  all  alone,  and  liable  to  a  holdup  any  minute 
by  footpads?  A  man  had  been  murdered  a  few  nights  before  on 
this  path,  within  the  limits  of  Oil  City,  for  the  few  dollars  in  cash 
he  carried  in  his  pockets.  The  spot  was  near  the  tunnel  of  the 
Lake  Shore  railroad  and  several  holdups  had  taken  place  in  dif- 
ferent parts  of  the  new  oil  country  a  short  time  before  my  Christ- 
mas morning's  walk.  As  there  were  no  policemen  to  protect  the 
lone  traveler  in  those  early  days,  I  confess  I  felt  slight  misgivings 
concerning  my  personal  safety,  as  I  was  carrying  the  price  of  my 
raft  and  shingles  in  paper  money  in  my  pockets — not,  as  it  would 
be  nowadays,  in  a  check  which  no  thief  could  use.  After  break- 
fast I  made  my  way  up,  up,  and  to  the  Shaffer  farm,  where  the 
terminal  of  the  railroad  was  located  at  that  time,  and  took  a  glad 
seat  in  a  comfortable  coach,  and  I  found  myself  enjoying  my 
Christmas  dinner  under  my  own  rooftree.  Now,  reader,  can  you 
see  any  good  luck  about  this  trip  ?  Perhaps  you  can  better  und- 
erstand the  buoyancy  of  my  feelings  if  I  tell  you  I  doubled 
my  money  by  that  one  day's  run  on  the  raging  Allegheny.  The 
reason  is  apparent.  Winter  was  so  near  at  hand  that  the  man 
that  I  bought  the  lumber  of  feared  to  run  the  lumber  when  such 
slush  as  I  have  been  writing  about  was  liable  to  tie  up  navigation 
for  the  winter  at  any  hour.  Consequently,  he  gave  me  a  low  price 
for  taking  the  risk  of  rafting  so  far  out  of  season.  Now,  what  do 
you  think  of  my  luck, 


60  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

A  PUBLIC  SPIRITED  AND  SUCCESSFUL  EDITOR. 

These  chapters  would  not  be  complete  without  a  reference  to  one 
of  the  most  lively,  energetic  and  public  spirited  men  to  be  found  in 
the  oil  regions.  This  man  commenced  in  his  younger  days  as  a 
writer  from  the  oil  towns.  A  visit  to  a  dozen  towns  a  day,  and  a 
letter  sent  from  each  town,  to  the  lucky  paper  that  had  him  for  a 
correspondent,  was  just  a  play  spell  for  him.  He  soon  developed 
into  an  oil  scout — a  very  important  part  of  the  oil  business  in  the 
early  days  of  oildom — and  the  new  well  that  came  in  without  a 
diagnosis  from  his  eagle  eyes,  was  far  away,  indeed,  and  had  a  good 
dark  hiding  place  in  some  swamp,  or  far-off  section.  This  man, 
to  make  a  long  story  short,  kept  on  rising  until  he  owns  and  edits 
the  only  paper  on  earth  that  gives  a  complete  account  of  the  oil 
business.  About  the  first  literature  to  meet  the  eye  of  the  writer 
of  "Old  Times  in  Oildom"  as  he  has  stepped  into  hundreds  and 
hundreds  of  oil  derricks,  is  this  man's  newspaper.  In  the  oil  busi- 
nessit  is  regarded  as  indespensible,  all  the  way  from  the  million- 
aire owner  of  many  wells  to  the  poorest  pumper. 

As  showing  the  enterprise  of  this  man  it  is  only  necessary  to 
mention  that  he  bought  and  placed  in  his  large  establishment  one 
of  the  first  linotypes  ever  used  out  of  the  great  cities  of  New  York 
and  Chicago.  To  show  how  he  is  regarded  by  his  fellow  workers 
in  the  newspaper  field  it  is  only  necessary  to  mention  that  he  was 
one  of  the  first  presidents  of  the  International  League  of  Press 
clubs.  With  all  this  he  is  a  model  of  modesty.  If  he  was  aware 
of  my  writing  this  he  would  soon  draw  his  blue  pencil  through  this 
scribble  of  mine.  Well,  reader,  you  already  know  the  name  of  the 
paper,  and  the  editor.  But  fearing  that  this  may  fall  into  the 
hands  of  some  backwoods  reader,  in  this  wide  world  of  ours — some 
one  who  knows  little  or  nothing  of  journalism  and  the  wide,  wide 
world,  I'll  proceed  to  give  the  name  The  name  of  the  paper  is  the 
Oil  City  Derrick,  and  the  name  of  the  editor  is  P.  C.  Boyle.  My 
first  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Boyle  was  at  the  hanging  of  young 
Tracy,  at  Smethport,  Pa.  Tracy  had  made  a  lengthy  statement, 
and  left  it  with  his  lawyer — not  to  be  read  until  after  the  hanging. 
Mr.  Boyle  was  then  a  correspondent  of  the  Titus ville  Herald. 
Many  other  correspondents  were  there  from  the  New  York  Herald, 
New  York  Tribune,  New  York  World  and  other  papers.  Their 
fingers  were  itching  for  this  statement.     Immediately  after  the 


A  SUCCESSFUL  EDITOR  61 

execution  Mr.  Boyle  hurried  to  Tracy's  lawyer  and  borrowed  the 
document,  telling  the  lawyer  that  he  wanted  to  copy  it.  The  last 
train  for  the  day  was  ready  to  leave.  Mr.  Boyle  made  all  haste  to 
the  depot,  and  sent  the  story  by  express  to  the  Titusville  Herald, 
which  had  column  after  column  of  this  '' confession"  the  next 
morning,  and  the  big  New  York  correspondents  were  obliged  to  go 
to  the  Herald  for  their  ''news,"  one  day  late. 

Venango  county  people  have  all  heard  of  Judge  Cross,  of  Clin- 
ton ville.  I  am  now  going  to  tell  about  something  that  happened 
long  before  the  Drake  well  was  thought  of.  I  tell  this  to  show  what 
a  wonderful  memory  some  people  have.  About  50  years  ago  I 
traveled  all  one  summer  with  a  concert  company.  In  the  meander- 
ings  of  our  musical  aggregation  we  struck  Franklin — that  ''Nurs- 
ery of  Great  Men,"  Our  show  held  forth  two  nights  in  the  old 
Presbyterian  church.  And,  by  the  way,  I  engaged  the  use  of 
that  church  of  "Plumb"  McCalmont,  the  then  brilliant  young 
lawyer  and  afterwards  the  greatest  temperance  advocate  in  West- 
ern Pennsylvania.  Mr.  McCalmont  was  a  genial  gentleman.  Even 
then  he  made  the  green  young  fiddler  and  showman  feel  right  at 
home  as  he  tramped  along  with  him  to  a  back  street  to  show  him 
the  capacity  of  the  old  red  clap-boarded  church.  Judge  Cross  was 
one  of  the  associate  judges  of  Venango  county  at  that  time.  Ac- 
companied by  his  daughter  he  was  attending  court  that  week. 
They  stopped  at  the  same  hotel  with  our  famous  concert  troupe 
of  two  violins,  two  singers  and  one  melodeon.  Both  nights  the 
judge  and  his  daughter  attended  our  musical  entertainments. 
Twenty  years  after  that  I  went  down  to  Pittsburg  as  an  oar  puller 
on  a  lumber  raft  and  came  back  by  stage.  The  route  led  through 
Clintonville.  When  nearing  the  little  town  I  asked  the  stage  driv- 
er if  Judge  Cross  lived  there.  He  said:  "Yes,  he  is  now  post- 
master." I  made  this  remark  in  the  hearing  of  the  stage  full  of 
passengers:  "I  saw  the  judge  20  years  ago  at  Franklin  and  have 
not  seen  him  since."  The  stage  driver  replied  in  this  wise:  "If 
he  saw  you  20  years  ago  he  will  know  you  now."  I  told  the  driver 
that  could  not  be  as  when  I  saw  the  judge  I  was  dressed  fit  for  a 
showman — a  great  contrast  between  my  clothes  then  and  now. 
"I  am  returning  from  'a  trip  down  the  river'  with  old  dirty  clothes 
and  have  slept  in  a  raft  shanty  bunk  with  nothing  but  straw  for  a 
bed  for  the  last  eight  nights  and  I  am  20  years  older,  20  years 
dirtier  and  20  years  raggeder."  The  driver  said:  "That  makes 
no  difference.  If  Judge  Cross  ever  sees  any  man,  woman  or  child 
once  he  will  know  them  if  he  ever  sees  them  again.  Come  in  and 
wait  while  he  changes  the  mail  and  when  he  se^s  you  he  will  know 


62  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

you."  When  the  stage  drew  up  to  the  door  of  the  judge's  store 
in  which  was  the  postoffice  I  walked  into  the  store  and  took  a  seat 
on  the  farthest  end  of  the  counter.  The  whole  stage  load  of 
passengers  had  become  so  much  interested  that  all  followed  me 
into  the  store  and  stood  around  as  very  much  interested  spectators 
awaiting  the  result.  The  judge  sat  behind  the  boxes  busily  sort- 
ing the  mail.  He  inadvertently  cast  his  eyes  in  my  direction  and 
immediately  exclaimed:  "Isn't  your  name  Brown  ?"  Then  a 
big  roar  of  laughter  came  from  the  stage  load  of  passengers,  and 
the  stage  driver  claimed  a  victory. 

I  will  say  a  few  words  about  the  old  Noble  &  Delamater  well, 
near  Pioneer,  on  Oil  creek.  What  I  am  going  to  relate  many  old 
people  already  know,  some  middle-aged  people  know  about  it,  but 
not  many  young  people  have  heard  of  it.  When  the  well  was 
drilled  in  it  flowed  at  an  average  of  nearly  1,500  l^arrels  a  day  for 
the  first  year.  The  price  of  oil  was  $14  per  barrel — no  wonder  the 
proprietors  started  two  banks,  one  in  Erie  and  another  in  Mead- 
ville.  The  well  was  drilled  on  the  very  edge  of  the  lease.  The 
adjoining  lease  holder  thought  he  could  plainly  see  a  "scoop"  and 
lost  no  time  in  putting  up  a  derrick,  nearly  touching  the  Noble  & 
Delamater  rig.  He  soon  had  a  neighboring  well  in  close  proxim- 
ity to  the  big  gusher.  The  theory  is  that  the  Noble  &  Delamater 
well  struck  a  crevice  in  the  rock.  In  other  words,  the  crevice  was 
composed  of  one  crack  in  a  solid  rock,  with  the  oil  flowing  through 
it.  Be  that  as  it  may,  the  cute  business  man  that  tried  to  tap  the 
source  of  the  Noble  &  Delamater  fortune  did  not  even  grease  his 
drilling  rope.  This  shows  the  uncertainty  of  the  oil  business.  And 
about  a  mile  from  this  great  money  maker  occurred  an  exemplifi- 
cation of  the  uncertainty  of  keeping  money  when  once  in  your 
possession.  Mr.  Benninghoof,  whose  farm  was  second  to  none  in 
the  production  of  oil,  bought  a  safe  to  store  his  immense  piles  of 
greenbacks  in,  thereby  saving  him  many  long  trips  to  town  to  de- 
posit the  burden  of  cash,  which  poured  in  upon  him  daily.  While 
quietly  seated  at  his  farmhouse  table,  surrounded  by  his  wife  and 
happy  farmer  sons  and  daughters,  a  gang  of  ruffian  robbers  entered 
and,  at  the  point  of  many  revolvers,  they  were  obliged  to  watch 
and  see  their  honest  cash  carried  off — by  the  $100,000 — by  the 
lowest  pieces  of  humanity  that  God  ever  permitted  to  walk  the 
earth. 


SOMETHING  ABOUT  GAS  63 

CHAPTER  XX. 

somp:]thing  about  gas. 

In  these  chapters  I  have  said  but  little  about  gas.  In  f  actjl  tell 
little  in  these  chapters  that  would  permit  them  being  called  ''Old 
Times  in  Gasdom,"  instead  of  ''Old  Times  in  Oildom."  Just  think 
a  moment — those  of  our  readers  who  were  on  earth  when  the  first 
big  flow  of  gas  was  struck  at  Titusville  on  the  Jonathan  Watson 
farm.  The  first  big  flow  of  gas  was  not  worth  ten  cents;  not  good 
for  anything  in  fact  but  to  scatter  the  nice  flowing  yellow  oil  to  the 
four  points  of  the  compass.  For  years  after  that  the  gas  from  the 
many  wells  in  the  oil  region  was  more  of  a  nuisance  than  a  benefit. 
It  caused  considerable  expense.  The  owners  of  the  wells  were 
obliged  to  buy  iron  pipes  to  carry  the  gas  to  a  safe  distance  from 
the  well,  where  it  was  burned,  to  prevent  the  mischief  it  might 
do.  And  mischief  it  did  do  in  hundreds  of  cases.  It  killed  the 
lamented  Henry  R.  Rouse,  and  several  others  with  him  at  the 
same  time,  besides  disfiguring  for  life  a  score  or  more.  Many 
lives  have  been  lost  and  much  property  destroyed  before  this  vapor 
was  finally  bridled  by  the  ingenuity  of  man.  The  operators  in 
Butler  and  other  sections  soon  found  a  safe  way  to  destroy  this 
terror.  They  laid  a  pipe,  as  described,  touched  a  match  to  the 
gas,  thereby  destroying  its  power  to  kill.  I  stood  on  a  high  em- 
inence in  Butler  county  one  night,  and  counted  63  great  gas  torches 
high  up  in  the  air.  It  was  a  grand  sight.  But  oh!  the  millions 
of  money  that  was  vanishing,  all  unawares  to  mankind.  Even 
"Cal"  Payne,  who  at  that  time  lived  in  his  big  new  house,  at  the 
city  of  Butler,  was  doing  his  full  share  in  destroying  one  of  the 
best  servants  of  mankind  ever  known.  I  guess  he  knows  some- 
thing about  it  now,  as  he  sits  on  the  throne  and  gives  directions  in 
regard  to  this  vapor,  as  it  lights  millions  of  homes  with  a  brighter 
light  than  oil,  and  softer  light  than  electricity.  And  more  than 
that — it  cooks  millions  of  meals,  and  good  housewives  have  only 
to  strike  a  match,  and  one  match  may  even  suffice  for  all  winter. 
My  own  little  town  of  Youngsville  would  be  in  comparative  dark- 
ness if  not  for  this  mischievous  gas.  Instead  of  a  dim  flickering 
street  lamp,  as  in  nights  of  old,  we  now  have  street  lamps  on  nearly 
every  corner  and  one  bright  light  greets  another  all  over  the  bor- 
ough. The  Forest  Gas  company  leads  this  once  uncontrollable 
stuff,  in  iron  pipes,  from  away  over  the  Allgheny  river,  in  the 
wilds  of  Forest  county,  to  nearly  every  room  in  nearly  every  house 


64  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

in  Youngsville.  All  stores  and  public  places  are  a  bright  blaze  of 
light.  Did  you  ever  think  of  the  triple  benefit  of  this  excellent 
illuminant.  First  it  saves  you  from  straining  your  eyes  while 
reading  at  night;  second,  it  saves  much  hard  work  in  cleaning 
lamps;  and  third  it  saves,  a  vast  amount  of  wood  chopping  and 
whittling  shavings  every  time  a  little  fire  is  started.  People  with- 
in range  of  the  gas  are  apt  to  forget  to  be  thankful  every  day  that 
gas  was  struck  in  their  time  and  that  it  was  not  postponed  until 
another  generation.  And  I  must  not  forget  to  say  that  another 
great  benefit  is  derived  from  this  source.  The  yoimg  timber,  in- 
stead of  being  cut  up  for  fire  wood,  is  allowed  to  grow  up  into 
high  priced  lumber  all  over  the  gas  producing  region. 

The  great  ruler  of  the  universe — God — will  provide  for  future 
generations.  This  is  only  one  of  the  many  benefits  that  will  be 
vouchsafed  to  the  millions  of  people  who  will  come  to  fill  our  tracks 
after  we  have  traveled  that  unreturnable  journey.  Great  is  gas, 
and  it  came  from  small  beginnings. 

When  oil  was  stored  in  large  iron  tanks  to  a  greater  extent  than 
it  is  since  the  Standard  Oil  company  commenced  the  business  of 
transporting  it  directly  from  the  wells  to  the  refineries,  lightning 
played  a  conspicuous  part  in  depleting  the  producer's  bank  ac- 
count. Now  and  then,  a  tank  is  struck  by  lightning,  even  yet, 
but  a  good  share  runs  to  the  refineries  or  to  the  seacoast  safely 
imder  ground  in  iron  pipes,  free  from  danger  from  lightning.  I 
have  seen  a  great  many  tanks  burning  after  being  struck  by  lightn- 
ing and  the  most  dangerous  one  of  the  lot  that  I  have  ever  seen 
was  one  at  Monterey,  Clarion  county,  Pa.,  about  28  years  ago.  Near 
a  half  dozen  large  tanks,  of  about  28,000-barrels  capacity,  stood 
on  the  left  bank  of  the  Allegheny  river  at  Monterey.  They  stood 
on  a  side-hill,  about  40  rods  from  the  railroad  tracks  and  the  river. 
One  morning  during  a  heavy  thunder  storm  lightning  struck  one 
of  the  tanks  and  there  was  a  wicked  blaze  immediately.  It  burned 
all  day  and  in  the  evening  a  carload  of  us  traveled  five  miles  in  a 
chartered  car  on  the  Allegheny  Valley  railroad  to  see  the  tremend- 
ous big  black  blaze.  At  this  time  I  was  a  reporter  for  the  Erie 
Daily  Dispatch,  and  I  went  with  the  crowd  for  the  purpose  of  re- 
porting this  oil  fire.  A  couple  of  hundred  people,  both  men  and 
women,  had  gathered  about  this  great  blaze  and  about  5  o'clock 
in  the  evening,  the  overflow  that  always  comes  when  a  full  tank 
of  oil  bums  about  half  way  down,  came,  and  rivers  of  burning  oil 
started  down  the  sidehill.  The  volume  before  spreading  was 
about  four  feet  high.  For  some  unaccountable  reason,  I  happened 
to    be    below,    right    in    the    way    of  this  burning  oil.     All  the 


SOMETHING  ABOUT  GAS  65 

others  happened  to  be  off  at  one  side,  where  they  easily  got  out 
off  the  range  of  the  burning  fluid.  I  was  the  only  one  who  had  a 
nip-and-tuck  race  with  the  flames.  I  ran  slantingly  across  the 
side-hill  towards  a  piece  of  woods.  I  came  to  a  rail  fence  which  I 
climbed  on  the  double  quick  and  dodged  into  the  woods.  As  I 
went  under  the  trees  the  blaze  from  the  burning  oil  struck  the  tops 
of  the  trees  over  my  head  with  an  ugly  roar.  As  I  ran  the  heat 
struck  my  back  with  great  force  and  I  was  quite  strong  in  the  be- 
lief that  there  would  soon  be  one  less  reporter  for  the  Erie  Daily 
Dispatch.  But  as  was  my  luck,  when  I  struck  the  edge  of  the 
woods  I  found  a  rise  in  the  ground  that  turned  the  oil  straight 
down  the  side-hill,  leaving  a  breathless  correspondent  sitting  on  a 
log,  thanking  God  for  a  deliverance  from  sudden  death.  This  was 
a  fire  to  be  remembered,  as  it  cleared  a  couple  of  acres  of  woodland 
between  the  oil  tanks  and  the  railroad.  The  burning  oil  poured 
down  the  hill,  devouring  green  trees  and  everything  it  came  to. 
It  swept  the  Allegheny  Valley  railroad  tracks,  stopping  trains  for 
a  day  or  two,  burned  a  planing  mill,  a  lumber  yard,  several  dwell- 
ing houses  and  a  barn — then  poured  a  great  burning  stream  into 
the  river — a  stream  which  spread  from  shore  to  shore  and  floated 
Pittsburgward.  It  was  a  strange  sight  indeed  to  see  that  broad 
expanse  of  fire  towering  high  and  moving  down  the  old  Allegheny 
on  top  of  the  water. 

I  began  this  chapter  by  speaking  of  gas.  I  am  reminded  by  this 
Monterey  fire  of  the  Wilcox  (Pa.)  burning  well.  Here  was  anoth- 
er gas  freak.  I  and  three  others  drove  four  miles  from  the  Wilcox 
hotel  to  see  the  famous  burning  well.  We  were  amply  rewarded 
for  the  trip.  When  we  arrived  it  was  dark.  Every  seven  minutes, 
without  fail,  the  gas  would  throw  the  oil  and  water  nearly  twice 
as  high  as  the  derrick.  Each  time  when  the  flow  would  come,  a 
man  with  a  long  pole,  having  an  oiled  rag  on  the  end  of  it,  would 
reach  out  the  full  length  of  this  pole  and  set  fire  to  the  oil  and  gas. 
The  gas  would  throw  an  eight  inch  stream  far  up  into  the  air.  The 
water  would  form  itself  into  a  barrel  shape,  and  the  gas  and  oil 
would  go  straight  up  this  round  tunnel,  all  ablaze,  entirely  encir- 
cled by  the  water.  Then  the  water  would  spread  and  fall  in  beau- 
tiful spray,  forming  all  colors  of  the  rainbow.  Such  a  sight  taking 
place  every  seven  minutes  cannot  be  described  by  my  weak  pen. 
This  free  show  has  long  since  gone  into  ^'innocuous  desuetude."  It 
is  doubtful  if  ever  a  counterpart  of  this  wonderful  Wilcox  well  will 
ever  be  seen  again.  This  is  an  age  of  wonders,  and  perhaps  some- 
thing will  turn  up  in  this  picturesque  line  that  will  excell  the  wond- 
ers of  the  burning  well  at  Wilcox.     But,  I  say  ^gain,  it  is  doubtful. 


66  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

YOUNGSVILLE'S  PROSPECTS  OF  OIL  AND  GAS. 

It  is  rumored  that  parties  from  Oil  City  are  quietly  leasing  land 
around  the  Allegheny  sulphur  springs,  about  one  mile  south  of 
Youngsville,  with  the  intention  of  giving  this  territory  a  thorough 
test.  I  have  already  mentioned  the  small  wells  about  Youngs- 
ville. I  left  off  a  description  of  the  work  that  has  been  done  along 
the  Brokenstraw  creek,  between  Youngsville  and  Irvineton.  Twen- 
ty years  ago  five  wells  were  drilled  within  a  distance  of  two  miles. 
All  produced  more  or  less  oil,  but  not  quite  enough  in  the  minds  of 
the  different  owners  to  justify  the  expense  of  pumping  them.  It 
takes  quite  a  good  well  to  pay  the  expense  of  pumping  one  well, 
but  when  a  dozen  small  wells  are  pumped  by  one  engine  the  case 
is  different.  No  two  wells  have  ever  been  hitched  together  in 
Youngsville  and  vicinity,  although  there  are  about  a  dozen  of 
them.  A  "second  crop"  operator  could  probably  make  money  by 
getting  control  of  a  half  dozen  or  more  of  these  and  harnessing 
them  together.  The  owners  of  a  majority  of  these  wells  contented 
themselves  by  sand-pumping  the  well  until  they  got  a  wagon 
load.  Then  they  would  drive  to  Warren  refinery  and  sell  it.  But 
I  am  wandering  from  my  subject — the  five  wells  along  the  Broken- 
straw  creek.  One  of  the  five  was  owned  by  A.  McKinney  and 
others.  It  produced  about  two  barrels  a  day  by  flowing.  The 
owners  put  up  a  2o0-barrel  tank  to  receive  the  oil.  The  well  flowed 
at  intervals  until  there  was  about  150  barrels  of  oil  in  the  tank — a 
wooden  one.  Then  came  the  great  flood  when  so  many  lost  their 
lives  at  Oil  City  and  Titusville.  The  Brokenstraw  creek  went 
over  its  banks  doing  about  $200,000  damage  in  the  Brokenstraw 
valley.  The  tremendous  rush  of  water  swept  everything  off  this 
lease — tank  of  oil,  and  all.  That  was  the  last  work  done  on  that 
lease  to  this  day.  But  the  well  flows  occasionally — up  to  the  pres- 
ent date.  The  oil  is  not  saved,  however.  Some  day  the  well  may 
be  cleaned  and  tested.  This  same  company  drilled  a  well  about 
200  rods  above  the  one  just  spoken  of  and  it  was  nearly  a  mate  for 
it.  I,  with  my  own  eyes,  saw  the  above  mentioned  well  flow  about 
three  barrels  of  oil  into  a  wooden  tank  in  the  space  of  15  minutes 
after  being  ''shut  in"  two  days.  Although  this  was  the  time  of 
the  great  flood  this  last  named  well  has  continued  to  flow  and 
many  a  wagon  load  has  been  drawn  to  the  Warren  refineries  from 
it.     Now  we  come  along  up  the  creek  a  few  dozen  rods  and  another 


YOUNGSVILLF/S  PROSPECTS  67 

well  has  about  the  same  history  only  the  oil  that  it  flows  has  not 
been  saved.  Then  we  come  along  up  about  60  rods  and  we  find 
the  most  abused  well  in  the  lot.  It  tried  to  be  so  ething  but  the 
superintendent  ''shut  up  shop"  when  it  did  not  prove  to  be  a  great 
gusher  without  cleaning  out  the  quicksand  that  gathered  with  oil 
and  gas  in  fair  quantities  in  the  hole.  At  the  west  end  of  this  two 
miles  of  wells,  with  not  a  dry  hole,  is  a  vast  expanse  of  territory 
which  has  never  been  tested. 

I  recently  read  a  communication  in  the  Oil  City  Derrick  from  the 
Rev.  P.  S.  G.  Bissell,  concerning  his  father's  claim  to  the  honor  of 
drilling  the  first  oil  well.  Then  I  read  in  the  Derrick  the  editorial 
comment  on  the  letter.  I  saw  the  Drake  well  the  second  day  after 
oil  was  struck.  I  have  seen  George  H.  Bissell  many  times  at  Titus- 
ville.  I  have  stopped  at  the  same  hotel  with  him,  conversed  with 
him,  and  I  always  found  him  to  be  a  very  agreeable  gentleman 
and  a  strong  believer  in  the  great  future  of  the  oil  business,  but  I 
never  heard  his  name  mentioned  as  the  discoverer  of  the  first  oil 
well.  It  was  Drake,  Drake,  Drake,  on  all  sides  there  at  Titus ville, 
but  never  once  Bissell — so  far  as  I  ever  heard.  The  name  of  Colon- 
el E.  L.  Drake  has  been  a  fireside  word  the  whole  world  over.  How 
many  of  the  young  people  at  the  present  time,  have  ever  heard  of 
George  H.  Bissell?  The  intelligent  business  men  who  furnished 
the  money  to  pay  for  the  fine  memorial  in  Titusville  cemetery  are 
not  likely  to  make  a  mistake  and  put  the  monument  over  the 
wrong  man.  If  George  Washington's  monument  had  been  named 
Thomas  Jefferson's,  it  would  have  looked  funny.  To  my  mind, 
the  editorial  in  the  Derrick  relating  to  Queen  Isabella  and  Mr.  Bis- 
sel  did  not  go  far  enough.  There  was  quite  a  difference  between 
the  two.  Queen  Isabella  did  not  drop  Christopher,  but  continued 
to  furnish  the  ''dingbats"  until  the  discovery  was  made.  She  did 
not  let  the  burden  fall  on  a  Fletcher  or  a  Wilson,  as  did  the  men 
who  are  now  trying  to  take  the  honors  away  from  Drake. 

How  things  have  changed  since  I  was  a  boy !  I  saw  this  country 
when  it  was,  you  might  say,  "a  howling  wilderness."  Tall  pine 
trees  darkened  the  country  in  places,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach. 
A  large  part  of  it  belonged  to  the  Huidekopers  of  Meadville,  Pa. 
Each  quarter  sessions  of  court  at  Warren  two  of  the  brothers  would 
drive  in  a  covered  carriage  to  Warren  on  Monday  and  write  con- 
tracts and  deeds  all  the  week.  All  the  people  in  this  section  of  the 
country  thought  the  Huidekopers  "some  punkins."  Everybody 
tipped  their  hats  when  they  met  the  Huidekopers  driving  their  fine 
team  of  matched  horses  hitched  to  a  shiny  covered  carriage.  A 
man  in  a  covered  buggy  those  days,  looked  bigger  than  a  man  in 


68  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

an  automobile  does  nowadays.  And  the  price — there  was  but 
little  difference  between  giving  the  timberland  away  as  at  present 
and  selling  it  at  only  $1.50  an  acre.  Think  of  good  soil  for  farming, 
covered  with  the  finest  of  pine  timber,  bringing  the  magnificent 
price  of  $1.50  per  acre !  I  myself  borrowed  $150  of  that  kind-heart- 
ed and  wealth)^  gentleman,  John  McKinney,  often  called  the 
''Uncle  to  Standard  Oil,"  and  paid  Huidekopers  for  one  hundred 
(100)  acres  of  good  land,  covered  with  the  best  of  pine  timber, 
and  one  year  from  the  time  of  borrowing  the  money  had 
paid  back  the  money.  And  the  Good  Samaritan  that  he  al- 
ways was,  would  not  take  one  cent  of  interest.  Was  not  that  get- 
ting land  on  easy  terms? 

The  Huidekopers  had  their  own  troubles,  as  ''all  the  sons  of 
men"  have  in  this  business  world.  Timber  thieves  were  numerous. 
Nearly  every  man  that  made  shaved  shingles  helped  himself  to  all 
the  pine  timber  that  he  manufactured  into  shingles  the  year  around. 
The  Huidekopers  tried  to  guard  against  this  wholesale  robbery  by 
engaging  men  who  lived  in  the  vicinity  to  watch  their  property. 
This  plan  did  not  even  retard  the  shingle  making  business.  The 
many  shingle  makers  never  lost  a  day's  work  after  the  appointment 
of  the  watchers.  The  watchers  seemed  to  have  enough  of  business 
of  their  own  on  hand,  without  meddling  with  the  shingle  making  of 
their  neighbors — at  least  not  according  to  my  best  recollection, 
was  a  man  ever  arrested  for  stealing  timber.  The  woods  were  full 
of  shingle  makers.  There  were  no  shingles  sawed  in  those  days. 
Shingle  mills  were  unknown.  The  shingles  were  all  split  out  with 
a  frow  and  maul,  then  shaved  on  a  "shaving  horse"  and  packed 
into  half-thousand  bunches,  and  they  were  ready  for  the  Pittsburg 
market.  Nearly  the  whole  output  of  shingles  in  this  then  vast 
lumber  country  was  hauled  to  Brokenstraw  eddy  on  bob-sleds  in 
the  witner  time,  and  then  piled  on  board  rafts  in  the  spring  and 
run  to  Pittsburg  and  sold  to  the  farmers  all  around  the  Iron  City, 
and  far  into  the  Buckeye  state.  Not  all  stopped  in  Pittsburg,  as 
many  of  these  rafts  ran  the  whole  length  of  the  Ohio  river.  Cin- 
cinnati got  quite  a  share  of  this  shingle  trade.  But  I  am  wander- 
ing from  this  stealing  trade  subject.  This  cutting  Huidekopers' 
pine  timber  became  so  respectable  and  safe  that  a  man  was  thought 
just  as  much  of  when  working  up  stolen  timber  as  if  it  was  his  own. 
It  was  a  common  occurrence  for  a  couple  of  men  to  go  into  the 
woods,  build  a  shanty  on  Huidekoper  land,  and  live  in  the  shanty 
all  summer  and  pick  out  the  best  pine  trees  and  make  them  into 
shingles,  without  even  a  thought  of  wrong  doing  or  of  being  ar- 
rested for  theft.     In  fact,  these  men  often  stole  the  timber  from 


Y0UNGSVILLF;S  prospects  69 

each  other,  after  the  first  man  had  cut  the  timber  lengths,  ready 
for  the  frow.  In  one  case  amusement  comes  in.  A  certain  man 
living  about  a  mile  from  Youngsville  hired  another  man  to  help 
him  saw  and  split  into  bolts  a  goodly  pile  of  this  timber,  for  his  own 
use  when  he  would  get  the  time  to  work  it  up.  A  short  time  after 
a  neighbor  came  to  him  and  asked  the  loan  of  this  ready  cut  timb- 
er for  a  short  time,  or  until  he  could  get  time  to  steal  and  cut  enough 
to  pay  it  back.  The  man  that  owned  the  timber  refused  to  lend  it 
to  his  neighbor,  as  he  was  ready  to  commence  the  job  of  manufact- 
uring the  stuff  into  shingles.  Then  it  was  that  the  would-be  bor- 
rower, without  a  blush,  made  this  remark:  "I  have  already  made 
th^t  timber  into  shingles  and  sold  them,  but  I  will  cut  more  on 
the  same  lot  and  pay  you  back  soon.''  He  never  made  his  prom- 
ise good,  and  as  it  would  be  a  delicate  and  dangerous  business  for 
one  thief  to  arrest  another,  the  transaction  dropped  right  here. 
All  the  satisfaction  ever  gotten  out  of  it  was  that  the  thief  of  the 
first  part  seemed  to  enjoy  himself  in  telling  his  neighbors  what  a 
mean  man  the  thief  of  the  second  part  was.  The  writer  of  this 
got  this  nearly  unbelievable  story  from  the  man  who  stole  and 
sawed  the  timber.  Both  men  have  long  since  gone  to  put  in  their 
claims  to  heavenly  mansions  not  covered  with  pine  shingles. 

This  stealing  timber  business  is  not  guess  work  with  me.  I 
once  bought  two  tall  and  large  pine  trees  from  Judge  William 
Siggins.  This  was  a  legitimate  transaction.  The  stealing  comes 
right  in  as  soon  as  I  can  get  this  pencil  to  it.  I  hired  a  neighbor 
to  help  me  cut  the  trees  down,  saw  them  into  "double  lengths," 
and  pile  them  up,  ready  for  ha\iling  to  our  shingle  shanty  to  be 
manufactured  into  shingles.  When  the  time  came  I  yoked  up 
"Buck"  and  "Bright,"  the  very  faithful  old  ox  team  belonging  to 
my  father,  and  hitched  them  to  the  woodenshod  sled  and  drove 
two  miles  into  the  forest  where  I  expected  to  get  a  load  of  my  tim- 
ber, but  I  didn't.  Not  a  bolt  was  to  be  seen.  Then  I  began  to 
look  for  tracks.  I  found  sled  tracks  in  abundance,  but  a  lack  of 
timber.  I  followed  the  sled  tracks  about  a  mile  and  found  my 
timber  snugly  piled  up  by  the  side  of  another  man's  shanty.  The 
man  was  contentedly  smoking  a  pipe  and  shaving  shingles.  He 
looked  up — without  any  appearance  of  em.barrassment — with  a 
smile  and  a  hearty  "good  morning."  I  soon  broached  the  sub- 
ject nearest  my  heart  and  inquired  the  cause  of  my  timber  being 
piled  at  the  wrong  shanty.  He  answered  in  these  words:  "I  got 
in  a  hurry  for  some  shingles  and  took  yours,  I  will  cut  it  on  the 
Huidekopers'  land  and  pay  it  back  to  you  right  away."  I  told  him 
that    I  must  have  those  shingles  and  as  he  had  made  4,000  already 


70  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

and  a  large  hill  would  have  to  be  climbed  before  reaching  my  shan- 
ty, I  would  give  him  the  "going  price"  for  making  up  the  balance 
of  the  timber,  about  16,000  shingles,  and  delivering  them  at  the 
Brokenstraw  creek  raft  landing.  He  readily  agreed  to  my  propo- 
sition. But  when  I  came  around  for  a  settlement,  he  had  worked 
up  all  the  timber  and  sold  all  the  shingles,  and  pocketed  all  the 
money.  In  place  of  putting  the  sheriff  on  him  immediately,  I 
took  his  promise  to  replace  them  in  a  fixed  time.  He  never  paid 
me  a  dollar,  and  I  was  green  enough  to  let  it  stand  until  he,  too, 
crossed  over  where  no  sheriff  annovs. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

BAD    OIL    SPECULATION. 

My  experiences  were  not  extensive  as  an  oil  operator.  My  first, 
last  and  only  venture  in  drilling  a  well  was  on  Cherry  Run,  in 
Rouse ville.  When  the  oil  business  was  yet  in  a  very  crude  state, 
J.  C.  and  D.  Mead  and  I,  formed  a  co-partnership,  and  leased  one 
acre  of  the  old  Smith  farm,  at  Cherry  Run,  so  close  to  Rouseville 
that  it  was  really  a  part  of  the  village.  Having  a  majority  vote  of 
"the  company,"  I  was  elected  as  superintendent.  This  was  mak- 
ing a  superintendent  out  of  raw  material.  But  no  more  raw  than 
a  majority  of  the  bosses  in  that  early  day  of  the  oil  business.  Sup- 
erintendents that  had  learned  the  business  were  not  to  be  found, 
as  the  business  had  not  been  learned  by  any  living  man.  It  was 
"cut  and  try"  with  the  best  of  operators  at  that  time.  I  am  very 
sure  it  was  "cut  and  try"  with  my  company.  I  am  quite  certain  as 
I  was  the  "cutter  and  tryer."  And  there  is  no  use  in  postponing 
the  acknowledgement  that  I  was  not  a  howling  success  at  the 
oil  business.  My  first  work  required  more  muscle  than  brains. 
The  work  consisted  of  chopping  down  a  big  white  oak  tree,  on  the 
sidehill  above  Rouseville,  and  hewing  out  a  sampson  post.  I  did 
about  half  the  work  on  all  the  timber  framing  for  our  derrick  and 
engine  house.  But  now  comes  in  the  brain  work.  After  consulta- 
tion with  my  partners  who  knew  as  little  about  the  business  as  I 
did,  I  bought  an  old  boiler  and  a  new  engine.  The  boiler  was  some 
what  antiquated,  and  in  shape  and  size  it  would  compare  favorably 
with  a  12  foot  average  saw  log.  One  little  "lackage"  about  this 
boiler  was  the  fact  that  it  did  not  have  a  single  flue  in  it,  and  it 
showed  weakness  from  the  very  start.    After  much  tribulation  and 


BAD  OIL  SPECULATION  71 

vexation,  and  consultation  with  my  partners  in  the  venture,  I  con- 
cluded to  sell  the  old  cylinder  and  replace  it  with  an  up-to-date 
boiler.  I  forget  the  price  of  this  new  fangled  boiler,  full  of  flues, 
but  it  took  quite  a  little  pile  of  notes  on  the  ''State  Bank  of  Ohio" 
to  pay  for  it,  and  commence  operations.  The  cost  of  coal  was  an 
item  that  bore  down  hard  on  oil  operators.  We  used  Cranberry 
coal,  at  $1.25  ber  bushel,  delivered  at  the  well.  This  seems  funny 
now  when  all  around  us  millions  of  feet  of  gas  are  being  piped 
away  from  the  wells.  It  compares  favorably  with  work  that  I 
helped  my  father  do  when  I  was  a  boy.  When  clearing  land  for 
farming  we  would  girdle  nice,  green,  pine  trees,  killing  them,  so 
that  they  would  not  shade  the  crops,  or  cut  beautiful  clear  stuff 
red  oak  into  logs,  hitch  oxen  to  them,  haul  them  and  roll 
them  up  into  ''log  heaps,"  with  much  hard  lifting,  and  burn  them. 
And  this  burning  was  no  "fool  of  a  job,"  as  the  timber  was  very 
green  and  soggy.  It  needed  punching  up  while  burning,  at  very 
short  intervals.  It  required  much  attention  for  two  or  three  days 
and  nights  before  the  last  embers  were  consumed.  This  same  red 
oak  timber — if  standing  on  the  ground  to-day,  would  bring  $30 
per  thousand  feet,  without  the  owner  touching  it.  We  have  two 
large  furniture  factories  in  Youngs ville  which  consume  20,000 
or  30,000  feet  of  just  such  lumber  daily.  A  part  of  it  is  now 
brought  by  rail  from  West  Virginia. 

But  let  me  get  back  to  my  oil  business  again.  When  this  Cherry 
Run  well  was  finished,  it  had  cost  about  $3,000.  It  was  a  fair 
producer,  about  10  barrels  a  day.  Oil  at  that  time  was  bringing 
$3  per  barrel.  But  in  the  course  of  a  year  the  output  commenced 
falUng  off,  and  as  the  Roberts  torpedoes  were  beginning  to  make  a 
stir  in  the  oil  region,  my  partners  asked  me  to  go  to  Rouse  ville  and 
have  a  shot  put  in  our  well.  I  told  them  that  I  would  go  down 
and  attend  to  that  shooting  in  10  days.  The  Warren  County 
Agricultural  Fair,  of  which  I  was  chairman,  was  on  hand,  and  I 
did  not  propose  to  put  "business  before  pleasure,"  but  stayed  by 
the  agriculturists  until  the  end  of  that  year's  exhibition.  One  of 
the  Mead  brothers  became  impatient  with  this  delay,  and  went 
down  to  Rouseville  and  sold  out  our  lease  at  a  rediculously  low 
figure  to  Mr.  Nelson,  a  Philadelphia  operator.  This  purchaser 
immediately  did  what  I  should  have  done — had  a  shot  of  glycerine 
put  in  it.  This  shot  brought  the  well  up  to  40  barrels  a  day,  and 
convinced  Mr.  Mead  that  he  acted  a  little  hastily  in  the  premises. 
If  he  had  waited  until  the  close  of  the  county  fair  that  glycerine 
shot  would  have  put  quite  a  sum  of  money  in  our  pockets,  instead 
of  passing  into  Mr.  Nelson's.     We  were  having  another  well  drilled 


72  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

on  the  other  end  of  this  acre  which  came  in  as  good  a  producer. 
But  my  being  so  slow  and  Mead  so  fast  deprived  our  company  of 
dcino;  much  in  the  way  of  oil  operations. 

The  old  times  in  the  oil  country  were  frequently  enlivened  by 
fire  getting  started  in  the  tinder-box  houses  forming  all  new  oil 
towns.  I  was  running  a  lumber  yard  at  Karns  City  at  the  time 
that  that  quite  noted  town  went  up  in  smoke.  I  owned  an  opera 
house,  a  building  for  a  lumber  office  and  Western  Union  telegraph 
office,  lumber  yard  and  hotel,  all  located  in  the  lower  end  of 
the  town.  Fire  companies  came  from  Millerstown,  Petrolia,  and 
Parker  Cit}^  just  in  time  to  stop  the  fire  before  it  reached  any  of 
my  property.  In  fact,  nearly  every  building  in  town  was  burned 
except  mine.  I  scored  good  luck  for  once.  The  fire  started  in  a 
little  store.  The  proprietor  was  away  from  home.  The  story  flew 
fast  that  the  man,  a  Hebrew,  by  the  way,  had  been  burned  out 
three  times  and  had  been  insured  every  timie.  When  the  man 
came  home  the  next  day  an  angry  crowd  met  him  on  the  street  and 
accused  him  of  being  the  cause  of  their  homes  being  in  ashes.  The 
man  turned  white  with  fear  in  a  moment  and  protested  his  inno- 
cence. But  his  hearers  were  crazy  mad  and  threatened  him  with 
lynching.  A  rope  was  procured  and  preparations  made  to  hang 
him  to  the  nearest  tree.  Just  then  the  constable  arrested  him  and 
started  with  his  prisoner  for  the  lock-up.  On  the  way  to  the  lock- 
up an  amateur  cowboy  sent  a  rope  whirling  through  the  air  three 
times,  but  each  time  it  failed  to  coil  around  the  man's  neck.  I 
never  saw  a  lynching  bee,  but  I  might  have  seen  one  if  that  rope 
had  caught  on  around  the  man's  neck,  as  lots  of  men  were  ready  to 
grab  the  end  of  the  rope  and  run  for  the  nearest  tree.  That  night 
a  trial  was  had  before  'Squire  Stewart  and  the  store  proprietor  was 
sent  to  the  Butler  jail  for  safe  keeping.  He  remained  in  jail  a  few 
days  and  then  caused  the  arrest  of  his  captors  for  false  imprison- 
ment. He  proved  that  he  was  in  Clarion  all  day  on  the  day  of  the 
fire.  He  also  proved  that  his  wife's  gold  watch  and  chain  and  all 
of  his  best  clothes  were  burned,  and  that  one  child,  through  fright, 
ran  and  concealed  itself  under  a  bed  and  was  accidentally  discov- 
ered just  in  time  to  save  it  from  a  horrible  death.  The  would-be 
lynchers  had  to  pay  quite  dearly  for  their  cowboy  play. 

Although  this  fire  swept  the  most  of  Karns  City  from  the  face  of 
Butler  county,  no  lives  were  lost.  But  after  all  this,  when  a  hotel 
had  been  built  near  the  depot  of  the  Parker  &  Karns  City  railroad, 
a  terrible  loss  of  life  took  place  when  the  hotel  burnc^l — seven  per- 
ishing. The  hotel  people  and  two  transient  lodgers  were  burned. 
But  this  was  not  as  bad  as  the  hotel  fire  at  Chicora  a  short  time  be- 


H.  P.  KINNEAR  AND  THE  I.  O.  O.  F.  73 

fore  that,  when  eight  people  were  cremated  in  one  hotel,  and  many 
more  injured.     I  was  an  eye  witness  to  this  holocaust. 

If  all  the  sudden  and  tragic  deaths  that  have  taken  place  in  the 
oil  region  since  the  Drake  well  was  drilled,  were  mentioned,  it 
would  fill  a  large  sized  book.  Of  the  hundreds  and  hundreds  of 
lives  lost  by  glycerine  I  will  mention  just  one  that  took  place  over 
on  Bear  Creek  when  the  stuff  let  go  with  a  jar  that  broke  plate 
glass  windows  in  Parker  City,  two  miles  away  over  a  hill.  I  ac- 
cepted an  invitation  from  a  Mr.  Stephenson  to  ride  with  him  in 
his  buggy  to  the  place  indicated  by  the  sound.  When  we  reachep 
the  spot  we  found  a  great  hole  in  the  ground,  about  eight  feet  deed 
and  eight  feet  in  diameter.  About  one  half  of  a  horse  lay  in  the 
road  unscathed,  cut  as  clean  as  it  could  be  done  with  a  knife.  It 
was  the  forward  part  of  the  animal  that  lay  in  the  road  cut 
through  the  middle  about  half  way  between  the  fore  legs  and  the 
hind  legs.  The  hind  quarters  were  no  where  to  be  seen.  Only  a 
little  of  the  wagon  could  be  found.  Not  a  vestige  of  the  well-shoot- 
er could  be  discovered  except  a  portion  of  the  skin  of  his  face. 
That  was  found  hanging  on  a  bush  about  20  rods  away.  One 
wagon  tire  was  driven  through  a  hemlock  tree  a  foot  in  diameter. 

I  might  describe  many  other  scenes  that  I  have  observed  in  the 
torpedo  line.  I  have  stood  in  three  different  towns,  and  have  seen 
plate  glass  breaking,  and  falling  onto  the  sidewalks,  all  caused  by 
glycerine  magazines  exploding — Butler,  Willow  Grove  and  Parker 
City.     Death  followed  in  the  wake  of  all  these  explosions. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

H.  P.  KINNEAR  AND  THE  I.  O.  O.  F. 

What  changes  come  with  time!  As  I,  with  my  mind's  eye,  look 
back  through  the  years,  many  things  come  to  me  that,  to  say  the 
least,  are  surprising.  A  few  remarks  about  Youngsville  lodge.  No. 
500, 1.  0.  O.  F.,  will  not  be  amiss.  There  were  about  50  members 
when  I  joined,  a  half  century  ago.  Only  one,  besides  myself,  is  a 
member  to-day — David  McKee,  of  Corry,  Pa.  I  am  the  only  one 
living  within  the  vicinity  of  the  lodge  room.  The  Kinnears,  Meads 
Siggins,  Johnsons,  Blodgetts  and  others — all  gone — either  dropped 
out  of  the  order,  left  the  town  or  have  passed  to  the  Grand  Lodge 
beyond.  Reader,  try  and  put  yourself  in  my  place.  Think  of 
stepping  into  a  lodge  with  over  200  members  all  initiated  since  I 


74  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

was  shown  the  secret  workings  of  the  order.  Is  it  any  wonder 
that  a  gentleman  living  in  this  town  recently  published  the  alleged 
fact  that  I  had  ''long  since  passed  the  age  of  imbecility.' '  The 
gentleman  himself  is  no  "spring  chicken,"  and  if  God  lets  him  live 
as  long  as  he  has  let  me  live,  he  will  not  he  one  day  younger  than  I 
am  now. 

Several  items  are  worth  mentioning  in  "Old  Times  in  Oildom" 
concerning  this  lodge.  Mr.  Kinnear,  who  was  the  originator  of 
this  lodge  nearly  60  years  ago,  was  the  moving  spirit  in  the  business 
of  the  lodge  and  all  other  movements  for  the  upbuilding  of  Youngs- 
ville.  He  was  the  representative  of  the  lodge  at  the  Grand  Lodge 
of  Pennsylvania  every  year  of  its  existence,  from  its  organization 
until  he  passed  beyond  all  earthly  things.  He  voted  on  the  des- 
tiny of  No.  500  about  45  years.  Mr.  Kinnear  was  one  of  the  go- 
ahead  men  of  his  day.  He  held  the  office  of  sheriff  of  Warren 
county  for  two  terms;  represented  the  county  in  the  legislature 
two  terms;  was  one  of  the  founders  of  Point  Chautauqua;  held  the 
triple  position  of  chairman  of  the  committee  on  Grand  hotel,  super- 
intendent of  the  grounds  of  the  association  and  treasurer  from  the 
time'of  the  starting  of  this  association  up  to  the  time  of  the  de- 
struction of  the  great  summer  resort  by  fire.  To  enumerate  all  the 
achievements  of  this  public  spirited  man  for  the  interest  of  Youngs- 
ville  would  take  more  space  than  can  be  spared.  Suffice  it  to  say 
that  he  "builded  better  than  he  knew,"  for  upon  the  foundation 
that  he  laid  the  liveliest  and  best  town  of  its  size  in  western  Penn- 
sylvania stands  to-day.  Mr.  Kinnear  was  president  of  the  Youngs- 
ville  Savings  Bank  at  the  time  of  his  death,  22  years  ago.  His 
picture  hangs  on  the  wall  of  the  lodge  room  and  is  a  smiling  remind- 
er of  the  founder  of  the  second  lodge  organized  in  Warren  county. 
The  three  story  building,  constructed  of  wood,  is  owned  by  the 
lodge,  and  next  year  it  will  be  replaced  by  a  fine  brick  building  of 
modem  design.  Youngs ville  is  proud  of  another  man  who  has 
been  a  credit  to  the  place — the  Hon.  William  H.  Short,  who  is  86 
years  of  age  and  who  steps  along  the  streets  without  the  aid  of  a 
cane.  He  has  been  a  man  of  ability  and  business,  a  resident  of 
Youngsville  since  a  boy.  He  has  filled  the  offices  of  everything 
that  the  borough  of  Youngsville  could  bestow  upon  him,  besides 
being  president  of  Sugar  Grove  Savings  bank  for  many  years. 
He  was  one  of  the  directors  of  the  far-famed  Chautauqua  founded 
by  the  great  Vincent,  a  member  of  the  State  Legislature,  two  terms, 
and,  last  but  not  least,  Mr.  Shortt  has  filled  the  office  of  United 
States  consul  to  Cardiff,  Wales. 

Youngsville  has  many  excellent  business  men  of  a  younger 


H.  P.  KINNEAR  AND  THE  I.  O.  O.  F.  76 

generation,  but  I  am  writing  of  "old  timers"  and  the  younger  men 
must  be  left  out  for  the  present. 

A  little  incident  that  came  near  being  a  big  incident  is  this :  I, 
in  partnership  with  William  Davis,  built  a  boat  for  the  purpose  of 
sending  out  of  Oil  Creek,  oil  by  the  barrel,  into  Oil  City.  When 
finished  we  floated  it  out  into  the  river,  preparatory  to  going  to  the 
Hub  of  Oildom.  When  we  were  about  to  cut  loose  from  Youngs- 
ville  40  ladies  came  on  board  for  a  ride  of  three  miles  to  Irvineton. 
As  it  was  a  flat  bottomed  boat,  with  no  seating  capacity,  the  ladies 
were  obliged  to  stand  up  during  their  ride.  When  nearing  the 
Irvineton  mill  dam,  your  humble  servant,  who  had  the  distinction 
of  being  pilot  of  the  craft,  discovered  the  disagreeable  fact  that  the 
water  pouring  over  the  dam  was  hardly  deep  enough  to  run  the 
boat  over  lengthwise;  so  to  make  sure  of  not  sticking  on  the  high 
dam,  I  plied  my  oar  with  much  vigor  until  the  boat  was  lengthwise 
of  the  dam,  thereby  catching  all  the  water  in  the  creek  from  shore 
to  shore.  The  boat  obeyed  the  rudder  to  perfection  and  the  water 
was  found  to  be  deep  enough  to  carry  the  boat  over.  But  now 
comes  the  sequel.  The  pilot  never  had  this  experience  before, 
always  finding  the  water  deep  enough  to  run  the  boat  endways.  I 
did  not  have  forethought  enough  to  let  the  ladies  disembark,  walk 
past  the  dam,  then  run  the  light  boat  over  the  dam  and  land,  tak- 
ing them  on  again  and  out  into  the  river  eddy,  but  instead  rushed 
into  danger.  The  boat  alighted  on  the  roaring  and  swirling  water 
on  one  edge  coming  up  nearly  full  of  water.  The  ladies  all  stood 
in  water  knee  deep,  with  a  chance  of  the  boat  sinking  any  moment. 
The  weight  of  the  ladies,  caused  the  boat  to  sink  so  deep  that  an 
inch  more  would  have  let  the  water  pour  over  the  top.  One  inch 
more  and  40  ladies  and  10  gentlemen  would  have  been  floundering 
in  16  feet  of  water.  As  it  was,  by  order  of  the  pilot,  they  all  stood 
perfectly  still  until  the  water  logged  boat,  loaded  with  feminine 
humanity,  slowly  floated  to  more  shallow  water,  where  the  boat- 
load of  fair  ones  waded  ashore  and  were  happily  saved.  The  pilot 
would  have  had  many  lives  to  answer  for  if  that  boat  had  been  a 
trifle  more  shallow,  but  a  "miss  is  as  good  as  a  mile." 

I  never  was  troubled  by  ladies  asking  me  for  a  boat  ride  after 
that  trip.  Bad  management  has  been  the  cause  of  many  ships, 
and  many  lives  being  lost.  Bad  management  would  have  had  the 
same  effect  in  this  case,  only  on  a  smaller  scale.  And  I  may  as 
well  tell  it  all  when  I  am  about  it.  I  am  now  living,  and  have  been 
for  many  years,  in  partnership  with  the  best  one  of  that  lot  of  ladies, 
but  she  has  never  invited  me  to  take  her  boat  riding  since  that 
particular  occasion. 


76  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

Years  ago,  w  en  I  was  at  Smethport,  Pa.,  I  witnessed  the  only 
hanging  of  my  lifetime.  The  readers  of  this  will  no  doubt  call  to 
mind  the  taking  off  by  the  rope  route  of  Young  Tracy,  for  the  murd- 
er of  his  sweetheart.  The  night  before  the  hanging,  I  spent  an 
hour  with  W.  Ed  Marsh,  a  young  lawyer  of  Corry,  Pa.,  but  who  had 
an-  office  in  Smethport.  The  sheriff  chanced  to  call  on  the  young 
Blackstone.  We  both  tackled  him  for  a  ticket  admitting  us  to  the 
jail,  where  the  hanging  was  to  take  place.  The  sheriff  was  a  very 
kindly  man,  and  told  us  that  his  tickets  were  all  gone — to  12  wit- 
nesses, 12  jurymen,  several  deputies,  about  30  newspaper  reporters 
and  a  few  friends,  but  if  we  would  come  to  the  front  steps  of  the 
court  house  at  2  p.  m.,  he  would  come  and  open  the  door  and  let 
us  in.  My  only  excuse  for  asking  admission  was  that  I  was  a  cor- 
respondent of  the  Titusville  Herald,  but  as  P.  C.  Boyle  was  the 
regular  travelling  oil  region  correspondent  for  the  same  paper,  and 
had  traveled  in  ahead  of  me,  my  chances  seemed  slim,  for  awhile. 
Well,  2  p.  m.  next  day  found  us  eagerly  awaiting  the  appearance 
of  the  sheriff  at  the  door.  Ticket  holders  by  the  dozen — P.  C. 
Boyle  among  the  number — came  rushing  along,  and  handed  their 
pasteboard  to  the  guardian  at  the  door,  and  passed  on  to  the  death 
chamber.  The  limb  of  the  law  and.  myself  stood  on  the  stone  steps 
of  the  court  house,  with  a  battery  of  3,000  pairs  of  eyes  fixed  upon 
us,  acting  like  a  couple  of  little  boys  trying  in  some  manner  to  gain 
entrance  to  a  show,  "without  money,  and  without  price." 

The  situation  seemed  to  work  on  Mr.  Marsh's  nerves  and  he  said, 
"Let  us  go.  The  sheriff  has  forgotten  his  promise  to  us  and  will 
not  be  likely  to  open  this  door  for  us.  It  is  now  10  minutes  past 
2."  My  answer  was:  "We  have  not  forgotten  our  promise.  We 
are  here  as  agreed  upon.  If  we  leave  and  he  comes,  we  have  brok- 
en our  promise.  Let  us  do  as  we  have  agreed.  That  agreement 
was  to  stay  at  this  door  until  he  comes  to  let  us  in."  Every  few 
minutes  my  lawyer  friend  would  renew  his  request  and  I  would  get 
up  new  arguments  why  we  should  stay.  After  quite  a  delay  the 
sheriff,  true  to  his  word,  opened  the  door  and  politely  escorted  us 
to  an  advantageous  standing  place  near  the  scaffold.  We  saw  a 
double  hanging.  Tracy  passed  within  a  few  feet  of  us,  with  a 
complacent  face,  and  a  priest  on  either  side  of  him,  trying  to  give 
him  spiritual  comfort.  And,  indeed,  he  did  not  seem  to  harbor 
any  fears  although  death  was  staring  him  in  the  face.  He  stepped 
boldly  onto  the  scaffold  and  when  the  black  cap  was  drawn  over 
his  face  and  the  trap  was  sprung  his  body  shot  down  through  the 
opening,  the  rope  became  untied  from  his  neck,  and  he  fell  nearly 
on  his  coffin,  which  sat  beneath  the  scaffold.     Then  he  was  pushed 


OIL  REGION  INHABITANTS!  77 

back  through  the  opening  and  another  rope  was  adjusted  by  ex- 
sheriff  King  and  the  trap  was  sprung  the  second  time,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  he  was  pronounced  by  the  physician  as  dead.  It  did  not 
require  a  very  long  time  to  get  the  second  rope  around  his  neck,  as 
the  sheriff  had  foresight  enough  to  have  the  second  rope,  in  case 
the  first  one  would  not  hold.  A  professional  hangman,  of  Buffalo, 
tied  the  knots  on  both  ropes;  one  held  and  the  other  did  not.  Not 
very  complimentary  to  his  ''profession.''  When  the  second  rope 
was  being  adjusted  Tracy  made  the  remark,  ''Jesus,  Joseph  and 
Mary,  save  me."  I  was  told  by  an  old  citizen  of  the  town  that 
only  one  man  had  been  hanged  in  McKean  county  before  this  and 
this  man  showed  exceeding  coolness.  When  he  was  led  onto  the 
scaffold  he  put  one  foot  on  the  edge  and  let  his  weight  on  by  de- 
grees, before  he  would  trust  his  whole  weight  upon  it. 


CHAPTER  XXIV- 

OIL    REGION    INHABITANTS. 

In  writing  of  "OldsTimes^in  Oildom"  I  have  left;^off  until  the  24th 
chapter  what  should  have  come  in  the  first  article.  I  have,  within 
the  last  31  years,  organized  475  lodges  (158  Good  Templar  lodges 
and  317  insurance  lodges)  in  New  York,  Pennsylvania,  Ohio,  West 
Virginia  and  Canada.  More  than  half  of  these  lodges  were  organ- 
ized in  the  oil  region,  and  let  me  say  that  no  better  people  are  found 
anywhere  than  in  the  oil  towns.  The  towns  are  made  up  in  gen- 
eral of  the  best  hearted  people  in  the  world.  They  are  intelligent, 
industrious,  kind  and  good,  and  a  majority  are  skilled  workmen. 
Go  into  any  oil  town  and  look  at  a  crowd  of  greasy,  dirty  men.  The 
crowd  is  principally  composed  of  pumpers,  drillers,  pipe  line  men, 
telegraph  operators,  rig  builders  and  representatives  of  other  oc- 
cupations. 

Skill  of  the  first  order  is  required.  The  oil  regions  are  princi- 
pally made  of  educated  and  go-ahead  people.  The  old  drones  are 
not  apt  to  dig  out,  and  move  into,  and  take  up  the  activities  of  an 
oil  country  life.  They  leave  that  life  to  the  most  energetic  of  their 
children.  True,  there  are  people  living  in  oil  towns  who  are  get- 
ting old  that  commenced  an  oil  country  life  many  years  ago.  They 
were  young  when  they  took  up  the  business.  As  to  the  men  mak- 
ing provision  for  their  families,  but  few  die  in  the  oil  region  leaving 
their  families  destitute. 


78  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

Many  men  die  and  leave  more  than  enough  money  to  bridge  over 
necessities.  Many  belong  to  several  insurance  lodges.  It  is  a 
common  thing  to  find  men  carrying  from  $5,000  to  $10,000  insur- 
ance. Not  only  the  married,  but  the  single  men,  are  insured. 
About  five  years  ago  I  organized  three  lodges  in  succession  in  But- 
ler county — at  West  Sunbury,  Middletown  and  Butler.  While  I 
was  at  work  in  each  town  a  single  man  was  brought  home  dead 
and  one  mother  got  $3,000,  another  got  $5,000,  and  another  got 
$1,000.  Each  young  man  had  named  his  mother,  with  the  under- 
standing that  if  he  should  ever  get  married  the  benefit  certificate 
should  be  changed  in  favor  of  his  wife.  One  of  those  mothers  that 
I  speak  of  came  within  a  day  of  losing  $3,000.  Her  son  was  killed 
at  an  oil  well  just  one  day  before  he  was  to  have  been  married.  I 
write  this  to  show  that  many  young  men  carry  protection.  A 
young  man  who  promises  to  shield  and  protect  a  young  wife  and 
then  dies  and  leaves  her  over  a  wash  tub  to  keep  starvation  away, 
is  looked  upon  as  failing  to  do  a  duty  towards  a  loved  one,  when  he 
could  have  protected  her  by  putting  a  few  cents  into  some  lodge 
treasury  once  a  month.  But  I  am  getting  away  from  what  I 
started  out  to  tell.  I  wish  to  say  to  the  readers  that  although 
some  bad  characters  inhabit  the  oil  towns,  that  their  number  is 
surprisingly  small,  considering  the  heterogeneous  crowds  which 
naturally  drift  into  a  new  oil  town  from  all  points  of  the  compass 
and  from  nearly  all  nationalities.  It  is  a  remarkable  fact  that 
there  are  towns  and  towns  where  there  never  was  a  drop  of  oil 
found  that  will  outstrip  the  oil  towns,  two  to  one,  in  all  kinds  of 
rascality  and  meanness.  I  think  I  have  had  an  opportunity  to 
judge  of  this  matter.  During  my  31  years'  rambling  over  the 
states  mentioned  above,    I  never  felt  unsafe  many  times. 

The  first  time  was  between  Linesville,  Venango  county.  Pa.,  and 
Edenburg,  Clarion  county.  Pa.,  near  30  years  ago.  It  was  on  a 
bright,  shiny.  Sabbath  morning,  that  I  left  Linesville  and  took  the 
nearest  road  for  Edenburg.  I  traveled  along  about  two  miles,  by 
pleasant  farm  houses,  where  all,  to  a  lone  traveler,  looked  happy 
and  serene.  Birds  were  singing  their  best  Sunday  tunes,  and  all 
nature  seemed  to  be  at  rest.  Then  came  a  sudden  change.  The 
pretty  farms  gave  way  to  a  dense  thicket  of  oak  and  chestnut 
underbrush.  The  road  led  down  quite  a  steep  hill,  at  the  foot  of 
which  stood  an  old,  very  old,  two  story  log  house.  Where  there 
had  been  long  ago  glass  in  the  windows,  old  hats,  and  any  old  thing 
that  could  take  the  place  of  a  light  of  window  glass,  did  duty  in  the 
way  of  keeping  the  wind  and  rain  out.  Right  opposite  the  old 
castle  was  a  cool  crystal  stream  of  spring  water  rippling    into  a 


OIL  REGION  INHABITANTS  79 

horse  trough.  So  inviting  did  this  look  to  me  that,  although  not 
very  thirsty,  I  could  not  pass  such  a  clear  cold  stream  of  water  un- 
tasted.  So  I  leaned  over  to  the  rippling  waterfall  and  had  just 
absorbed  a  couple  of  swallows  of  water,  when  bedlam  seemed  to 
have  been  let  loose  across  the  road  in  the  old  house.  Although  it 
was  the  holy  Sabbath  day,  profanity  poured  forth  in  its  rankest 
form,  and  a  sound  came  to  my  ears  resembling  pots,  kettles,  chairs 
and  household  furniture  in  general  being  hurled  through  the  house. 
I  cut  out  the  water  drinking  very  suddenly,  and  took  a  glance 
across  the  road,  and  there  at  a  front  window  sat  a  man  with  a  long 
black  mustache.  He  had  an  expression  on  his  face  that  was  any- 
thing but  reassuring  to  me.  The  man  sat  with  his  elbows  on  the 
window  sill,  his  face  resting  on  his  hands,  and  his  eyes  steadily 
fixed  on  the  lone  traveler.  I  had  on  my  ''Sunday-go-to-meeting" 
clothes,  a  gold  watch  and  chain,  and  a  new  handbag.  It  did  not 
take  very  long  for  the  following  reasoning  to  slip  through  my  mind : 
People  that  would  get  up  a  Sunday  morning's  battle  of  both  words 
and  fists,  might  take  a  notion  to  inspect  my  pockets  and  handbag. 
Lodge  organizers  are  very  seldom  worth  robbing.  But  these  peo- 
ple did  not  know  that,  and  I  could  not  tell  but  what  they  might 
take  a  notion  into  their  heads  to  find  out  for  themselves,  so  I  put 
a  very  unconcerned  expression  on  my  face,  picked  up  my  satchel 
and  started  on  my  way  without  a  parting  look  or  word.  The  road 
led  up  hill  from  this  habitation,  in  the  little  narrow  valley  in  the 
woods,  with  dense  brush  on  both  sides  of  the  road.  I  expected 
every  moment  to  see  an  investigating  party  step  from  this  thick 
underbrush  into  the  road  ahead  of  me.  I  did  some  pretty  tall 
Sunday  walking  up  that  mile  long  hill  through  the  woods  .  And 
how  glad  I  was  to  reach  the  top  of  that  hill,  and  see  a  beautiful 
farm  and  farm  house,  and  hear  beautiful  strains  of  music  floating 
out  from  a  quartette  of  two  brothers  and  two  sisters,  accompanied 
by  an  organ.  What  a  transformation — from  the  valley  a  mile 
below,  to  a  mile  above.  I  called  at  this  Christian  home,  and  for 
an  excuse  asked  for  a  drink  of  water.  The  reader  will  remember 
that  I  did  not  finish  my  last  drink.  The  young  people  played  and 
sang  their  best  hymns  for  the  benefit  of  the  lone  organizer,  and 
after  a  pleasant  hour,  I  resumed  my  lonely  Sunday  walk,  and  reach- 
ed that  busy  oil  town  of  Edenburg  in  due  time.  I  said  nothing 
to  my  new  found  friends  on  the  nice  farm  at  the  top  of  the  hill  about 
their  neighbors  a  mile  below,  and  I  am  in  ignorance  to  this  day  as 
to  who,  or  what  kind  of  a  family  occupied  that  old  two  story  log 
house  in  the  deep  hollow,  two  miles  on  the  road  from  Linesville  to 
Edenburg. 


80  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

The  second  rather  alarming  place  that  I  struck  was  between 
Frostburg  and  Byrom  Station,  in  Forest  county,  Pa.  The  distance 
is  a  little  over  a  mile,  and,  like  the  last  woods  described,  lined  by 
dense  underbrush  on  both  sides  of  the  road.  When  I  was  nearly 
half  way  through  this  piece  of  woods  I  saw  at  quite  a  distance  ahead 
of  me  a  large  man  come  from  the  brush  into  the  middle  of  the  road 
and  take  a  good  look  at  me,  and  then  step  back  out  of  my  sight 
into  the  brush.  I  put  my  watch  and  chain  into  my  inside  coat 
pocket,  so  that  no  inducement  in  that  line  would  be  held  out,  if 
the  big  fellow  turned  out  to  be  a  robber.  I  put  on  as  bold  a  front 
as  could  be  expected  under  the  circumstances  and  trudged  along. 
When  opposite  to  the  place  where  I  had  seen  him  reconnoitering 
I  turned  my  eye  around  and  beheld  this  giant,  with  a  cowboy 
mustache,  standing  in  a  path  about  two  rods  from  the  main  road, 
looking  me  square  in  the  eye.  As  I  did  not  want  to  form  an  inti- 
mate acquaintance  with  a  stranger  adopting  those  tactics,  I  did 
not  even  pass  the  time  of  day  with  him,  and  he  proved  to  be  as 
"short  on  courtesy"  as  I,  so  I  walked  along,  not  showing  any  sign 
of  alarm,  and,  of  course,  I  did  not  look  around  to  show  that  I  was 
interested  in  him,  and  I  never  saw  him  again.  He  may  be  there 
yet,  as  far  as  I  know.  I  was  perfectly  safe  all  the  time,  but  I  did 
not  know  it  until  I  was  safely  out  of  that  luxuriant  underbrush. 
The  same  God  that  has  guided  me  in  those  hundreds  of  strange 
places  was  with  me  then,  but,  with  my  dim  vision,  I  could  not  see 
this  until  distance  proved  it  to  me.  I  have  often  wondered  why 
this  last  man  was  there.  I  have  thought  that  he  was  evading  the 
officers  of  the  law  and  was  keeping  an  eye  out,  but  the  fact  that 
he  remained  so  near  the  road,  instead  of  going  a  little  farther  back, 
would  disprove  this  theory.  Then  again,  if  he  was  there  for  the 
purpose  of  robbery,  why  did  he  not  pitch  into  me. 

And  now  I  come  to  the  third  fright.  About  16  years  ago  I  was 
walking  down  the  Lake  Shore  railroad  track,  between  Ashtabula 
and  Ashtabula  harbor.  As  night  came  on  I  overtook  four  men 
walking  leisurely.  As  soon  as  I  came  up  to  them  and  spoke,  I 
made  up  my  mind  that  they  were  common  tramps.  My  pleasant 
"good  evening''  was  answered  in  a  very  surly  manner.  My  fears 
got  the  better  of  me  and  I  quickened  my  gait.  There  was  a  deep 
cut  in  the  road  at  that  place,  and  the  only  way  to  get  out  of  that 
company  was  to  outwalk  the  big  lubberly  fellows  and  reach  a  street 
crossing,  where  steps  could  be  found  leading  up  to  the  wagon  road. 
The  faster  I  would  walk  the  faster  the  tramps  would  walk.  When 
I  reached  the  wagon  road  there  happened  to  be  two  or  three  teams 
crossing  at  that  time,  and  I  skipped  up  the  bank  and  mixed  in 


PICKPOCKETS  81 

with  the  crowd  and  I  was  safe  from  the  tramps.  Two  weeks  after 
that  time  I  read  of  a  gang  of  tramps  killing  a  man  for  his  money  at 
that  identical  spot.  I  really  think  that  this  quartette  of  tramps 
expected  me  to  travel  down  the  railroad  and  that  they  would  ''go 
for  me."  I  "showed  the  white  feather,"  but  I  would  rather  show 
"white  feathers"  while  alive  than  have  an  undertaker  show  black 
feathers  at  my  funeral. 

Anyhow  I  think  I  have  proved  my  original  assertion  that,  after 
having  worked  up  and  organized  475  lodges,  over  half  of  them  in 
the  oil  regions,  with  only  three  little  "scares"  and  no  real  attacks,  the 
oil  country  is  not  a  very  dangerous  place  in  which  to  live.  I  have 
a  very  warm  spot  in  my  heart  for  the  oil  country  and  its  inhabitants. 
When  I  say  this,  I  praise  a  great  many  people,  and  they  are  getting 
more  and  more  numerous  every  day.  Just  think  of  it!  From  a 
little  spot  here  in  western  Pennsylvania,  this  business  has  spread 
to  New  York,  Ohio,  West  Virginia,  Kentucky,  Illinois,  Texas, 
Oklahoma,  Indian  Territory,  California  and  Canada.  Truly,  oil 
is  a  wonderful  thing! 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

PICKPOCKETS. 

These  chapters  would  not  be  complete  without  a  mention  of  my 
experiences  in  the  pickpocket  line.  The  first  greenbacks  that  I 
ever  saw,  when  they  were  first  issued,  were  stolen  by  a  light-finger- 
ed and  low-lived  rascal  in  Pittsburg,  Pa.  I,  in  partnership  with 
Nelson  Mead  and  Hiram  Belnap,  floated  a  raft  to  Pittsburg  and 
sold  it  and  received  $425  to  bind  the  bargain.  My  partners  trust- 
ed me  to  carry  that  package  of  new  and  bright  bills  home,  while 
they  agreed  to  stay  until  the  raft  of  boards  was  delivered  on  the 
south  side,  when  the  balance  of  the  money  would  be  paid  to  them. 
I  was  obliged  to  sit  in  the  union  depot  until  1:30  a.  m.  before  a 
train  left  for  up  the  river.  I  bought  a  ticket  and  took  my  seat  in 
the  waiting  room  and,  like  the  greenhorn  that  I  was,  fell  asleep,  and 
waked  uj)  when  the  starting  of  the  train  was  announced.  I  took 
my  seat  in  the  coach  and  when  I  felt  for  my  pocketbook  it  had 
disappeared,  together  with  the  $425  of  the  handsomest  paper  I 
had  seen  up  to  that  date.  I  was  unsophisticated  enough  to  think 
that  possibly  the  book  had  fallen  into  honest  hands  and  I  quit  the 
train  and  returned  to  my  hotel  and  took  one  of  my  partners  with 


82  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

me  at  the  break  of  day  to  look  about  the  depot.  This  was  a  sign 
of  imbecility  on  my  part,  but  I  was  not  as  old  then  as  now.  We 
looked  around  the  depot  a  short  time,  but  did  not  find  any  pocket- 
book  lying  around  loose  filled  with  brand-new  greenbacks.  I  then 
went  and  called  on  ''Bob''  Ford,  the  well  known  Pittsqurg  de- 
tective. He  told  me  that  this  kind  of  business  was  of  almost  night- 
ly occurrence  at  that  depot  and  that  three  nights  before  I  called 
upon  him  a  man  had  $1,300  stolen.  Mr.  Ford  told  me  that  he 
offered  to  pay  every  dollar  stolen  from  that  depot  in  one  year  if  the 
city  would  pay  him  $1,000,  but  the  city  fathers  refused  and  the 
traveling  public  was  suffering  in  consequences  daily. 

I  felt  a  little  bit  green  over  this  transaction  and  told  the  partner 
that  went  to  the  depot  in  the  morning  to  not  let  the  other  partner 
know  anything  about  it  and  I  would  stand  the  loss.  I  didn't  want 
to  tell  anyone — not  even  my  wife — until  I  struck  oil.  In  about 
two  years  I  struck  a  little  oil  and  then  told  the  story  on  myself. 

The  second  time  that  I  was  robbed  was  at  Warren,  Pa.,  at  the 
time  of  the  Cherry  Grove  excitement  when  ''The  Mystery,"  or 
"Six  Forty-Six,"  was  struck.  The  price  of  oil  depreciated  at  this 
time  to  such  an  extent  that  small  operators  suffered  greatly.  If 
the  Standard  Oil  Company  had  never  done  anything  but  steady 
"the  price  and  stop  such  fluctuations,  the  Standard  would  have 
proved  a  godsend  to  the  country.  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  a  great 
rush  was  caused  by  this  strike.  Warren  was  full  of  all  kinds  of 
people,  with  a  sprinkling  of  pickpockets  to  boot.  And  as  I  step- 
ped on  the  P.  &  E.  train  at  Warren  in  a  great  jam  and  took  my 
seat  in  a  coach  I  missed  my  pocketbook.  When  I  missed  that  I 
immediately  felt  for  my  watch  and  was  really  surprised  to  find  it 
in  my  vest  pocket  untouched.  However,  pickpockets  at  that  time 
generally  let  time  pieces  alone  for  they  were  very  much  more 
easily  identified  than  the  money.  I  had  one  satisfaction  in  this. 
I  had  only  about  $10  to  lose  at  that  time,  although  it  did  happen 
that  I  lost  some  valuable  papers.  The  third  call  by  this  class  of 
visitors  was  in  my  own  town  of  Youngsville.  I  was  returning 
from  attending  Buffalo  Bill's  Wild  West  Show.  There  was  a  gang 
of  those  miserable  blots  on  the  face  of  the  earth  following  Buffalo 
Bill's  Wild  West  show  on  that  trip  and  two  of  them  took  the  same 
train  west  on  the  P.  &  E.  road  that  I  did.  In  getting  off  the  train 
I  was  considerably  crowded  by  two  young,  good-lookmg  men,  who 
pretended  to  be  in  a  great  hurry  to  get  to  vacant  seats.  They 
were  crowding  from  both  sides  of  the  aisle.  I  thought  that  I 
recognized  them  as  pickpockets  and  as  I  stepped  out  of  the  coach 
door  I  felt  for  my  pocketbook,  but,  as  I  expected,  it  was  not  there. 


PICKPOCKETS  83 

I  stepped  off  the  train  and  told  the  conductor  that  he  had  pick- 
pockets on  board  his  train.  He  asked  me  if  I  could  point  them 
out  to  him.  I  told  him  that  I  could  not,  as  they  were  lost  in  the 
crowd,  and  consequently  they  escaped  arrest.  But  this  time  the 
joke  was  on  the  thieves,  as  they  got  only  about  $2 — hardly  worth 
the  risk.  I  suppose  the  rascals  must  have  let  off  some  cuss-words 
when  they  opened  the  book.  But  I  was  inconvenienced  some- 
what by  the  loss  of  papers  which  could  do  the  thieves  no  good. 

Three  days  after  this  I  attended  the  grand  lodge  I.  0.  O.  F.,  of 
New  York,  at  Jamestown,  N.  Y.  In  the  afternoon  a  little  party 
concluded  to  take  a  ride  on  the  lake,  and  as  I  thought  I  might  not 
have  money  enough  to  carry  me  through,  I  asked  a  friend  if  he  had 
$5  that  he  would  not  need  until  he  reached  Youngsville.  He  an- 
swered, "1  don't  know,  but  will  look."  I  said:  "Don't  look  at 
your  money  in  this  crowd.  There  may  be  pickpockets  here — go 
into  the  writing  room."  He  complied  with  my  request  and  soon 
came  back  with  the  remark,  ''Yes,  I  can  let  you  have  it."  I  stepp- 
ed into  the  writing  room  of  the  Sherman  House  and  wrote  a  check 
for  five  dollars,  came  out  and  into  the  public  room,  handed  my 
friend  the  check  and  he  handed  me  the  money,  in  the  presence  of  a 
hundred  men.  I  put  the  money  in  my  book,  and — reader — 
give  a  guess  as  to  the  length  of  time  that  I  had  possession  of  that 
money.  Being  well  aware  that  you  will  make  the  time  too  long, 
I'll  tell  you — just  about  three  minutes.  A  street  car  came  to  the 
door  of  the  hotel,  and  a  party  rushed  for  seats,  or  pretended  to, 
and  my  pocketbook.  They  got  the  book,  but  not  the  seats.  They 
preferred  to  stay  in  Jamestown,  and  pick  up  other  easy  marks, 
like  myself.  I  was  quite  certain  before  I  got  into  the  car — by  the 
actions  of  this  crowd  of  New  York  City  excursionists — that  they 
belonged  to  the  fraternity  that  always  had  a  liking  for  me,  and  I 
found  my  prognostications  to  be  correct  when  I  felt  for  my  pocket- 
book  and  found  that  it  had  very  recently  changed  owners.  When 
I  made  my  predicament  known  a  friend  loaned  me  a  sufficiency 
of  cash  to  enable  me  to  stick  to  my  crowd  of  ''Brother  Odd  Fellows" 
until  my  arrival  in  Youngsville.  And  let  me  say,  that  although 
sixteen  years  have  come  and  gone,  I  have  not  lost  a  pocketbook 
since  that  time,  for  the  good  reason  that  I  have  not  had  a  book  in 
my  pockets  since.  I  don't  know  how  many  times  those  meanest 
of  things  in  the  shape  of  men  have  had  their  hands  in  my  pockets 
since  the  Jamestown  donation,  but  I  do  know  that  they  have  gone 
without  their  regular  meals  if  they  depended  on  me  to  pay  their 
bills.  It  is  a  little  more  safe  to  keep  your  money  in  bank,  and  fill 
blank  checks  when  you  wish  to  use  it  than  to  carry  your  money  in 


84  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

your  pockets. 

This  reminds  me  of  a  funny  little  incident.  Away  up  in  the 
mountains  of  the  "Mountain  State,"  West  Virginia,  I  gave  a  check 
for  75  cents  on  the  Youngsville  Savings  Bank,  400  miles  away,  to 
a  hotel  man  in  payment  of  my  hotel  bill.  I  happened  that  way 
again  six  months  afterwards.  He  was  still  the  owner  of  the  check. 
He  said  it  was  too  small  an  amount  to  send  to  his  bank.  I  remain- 
ed under  the  hospitable  roof  on  this  second  visit  until  my  check 
was  large  enough  for  him  to  ''bother  with,"  but  I  am  not  taking 
any  chances  with  pickpockets.  I  cannot  account  for  the  fact  that 
I  am  ''a  shining  mark"  for  this  class  of  miscreants  that  I  have  men- 
tioned, when  my  neighbors  all  escape.  I  know  I  have  reached  the 
point  of  intense  hatred  of  the  people  who  make  their  living  that 
way.  They  have  nothing  to  lose  and  everything  to  gain.  They 
don't  risk  one  cent.  It  is  all  income  and  no  outgo.  Nothing 
would  please  me  more  than  to  see  the  whole  crowd — no,  I  could 
not  see  them  all  at  the  same  time,  there  are  too  many  of  them — 
hanging  by  their  necks. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

OLD   TIME   LUMBERMEN. 


In  writing  this  chapter  there  comes  to  my  mind  old  rafting 
times.  Years  ago,  when  I  was  a  pilot  of  lumber  rafts  on  the  Al- 
legheny and  Ohio  rivers,  when  the  spring  flood  came,  us  young 
fellows,  and  many  of  the  old  fellows,  would  begin  to  look  around 
for  work  at  rafting.  Even  before  the  water  came  deep  enough 
for  rafts,  we  would  begin  to  build  our  ''creek  pieces"  on  the  ice  at 
the  mills.  We  had  no  steam  mills  then.  Water  power  made  all 
the  lumber  then.  The  logs  were  hauled  to  the  streams,  for  the 
sawing  into  boards.  And  oh!  what  boards.  The  logs  were  rolled 
onto  carriages,  and  set  to  the  right  thickness  with  crowbars — by 
guess.  Sometimes  a  board  would  be  a  quarter  or  half  inch  thicker 
at  one  end  than  at  the  other  end.  The  saw  was  hung  in  a  sash, 
made  for  one  single  saw,  and  played  up  and  down  with  an  uncer- 
tain speed,  owing  to  the  height  of  the  water  in  the  dam  above  the 
mill.  And  after  a  log  had  a  slab  taken  off  of  both  sides — some- 
times a  board  or  two  would  be  sawed,  thus  flattening  a  log,  these 
boards  would  be  piled  on  the  fiat  side  of  the  log  to  be  edged.     The 


OLD  TIME  LUMBERMEN  85 

sawyer  would  sit  on  these  boards  in  front  of  the  saw,  and  as  the  saw 
would  near  him  he  would  hitch  away  from  it,  but  must  keep  his 
weight  upon  the  boards,  to  keep  them  down,  so  that  a  single  saw 
could  do  its  double  duty  of  sawing  the  board  under  and  edging  the 
board  on  top,  at  one  and  the  same  time.  When  I  was  a  young, 
green  millhand  I  came  the  nearest  to  passing  into  the  life  beyond 
that  I  ever  did,  through  this  very  method  of  edging  boards.  I  was 
sitting  in  front  of  the  saw,  hitching  away  at  intervals.  The  skirt  of 
my  coat  dragging  behind,  I  like  the  fool  boy  that  I  was,  took  the  no- 
tion that  I  would  let  the  saw  clip  a  little  notch  in  my  coat,  so  I  let  the 
saw  creep  up  to  it.  But  instead  of  clipping  a  little  notch,  the  coat 
was  jerked  down  into  the  log  with  such  violence  that  the  skirt  was 
nearly  torn  off,  with  a  dozen  holes  in  it.  As  the  saw  came  up  out 
of  the  log  for  another  stroke  I  jumped  with  the  agility  of  a  cat,  or 
any  other  smart  animal.  If  not  for  that  quick  motion  I  would 
have  been  mincemeat  in  a  second.  I  never  again  tried  such  an  ex- 
periment.    But  to  the  subject: 

When  the  snow  melted  and  raised  the  creek  to  a  rafting  stage 
then  the  fun  began.  The  Brokenstraw  creek  would  be  full  of  rafts 
passing  through  Youngsville  from  morning  until  night.  One 
might  stand  on  the  bridge  spanning  the  Brokenstraw  creek  all  day 
long  and  not  be  out  of  sight  of  a  floating  raft,  either  up  the  creek, 
down  the  creek,  or  passing  through  town.  At  that  time  sawmills 
were  strung  along  the  creek  from  Irvineton  to  the  headwaters  in 
Chautauqua  county,  N.  Y.  And  as  no  railroads  were  even  con- 
templated all  the  lumber  was  floated.  Even  the  tributaries, 
Little  Brokenstraw,  Garland,  Spring  creek  and  Hare  creek,  put 
out  their  share  of  this  lumber.  But  the  show  came  when  these 
hundreds  of  "creek  pieces''  were  landing  in  the  Brokenstraw  eddy. 
They  must  be  coupled  up  preparatory  to  starting  for  Pittsburg. 
At  times  the  Brokenstraw  eddy  was  not  large  enough  and  a  share 
of  the  coupling  up  into  river  rafts  of  about  a  doz3n  creek  rafts, 
put  into  one  river  raft,  went  to  Dunn's  eddy  and  to  Thompson's 
eddy.  It  required  a  considerable  fishing  and  figuring  for  each  of 
perhaps  50  owners  to  get  their  different  creek  pieces  out  of  the 
general  mixup  and  coupled  into  river  rafts.  Well,  I  guess  there 
was  a  hurrying  time  among  the  men  that  did  this  work  when  water 
was  falling  in  the  river.  Men  have  been  known  to  work  all  night 
with  only  the  light  of  pitch  pine  knots.  No  electric,  gas  or  acety- 
lene lights  were  dreamed  of  those  days.  And  when  the  "Allegheny 
fleets"  were  all  coupled  up  a  shanty  was  built  of  boards,  a  stove 
put  in  and  some  hard  "bunks"  for  the  "hands"  to  sleep  in.  A 
supply  of  salt  pork,  potatoes  and  bread  was  put  aboard  and  the 


86  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

raft  was  ready  to  "pull  out."  The  pilot  would  say  "Left  forward" 
and  the  fleet  would  be  propelled  from  the  shore  where  it  had  been 
tied  by  a  long  cable  since  the  work  of  "coupling  up"  commenced 
by  the  most  willing  set  of  workers  that  ever  left  friends  and  foes 
behind  for  an  outing  down  the  river  to  Pittsburg,  Wheeling,  Cin- 
cinnati, Louisville  and  man)^  times  to  the  falls  of  the  Ohio  river 
and  New  Orleans.  Those  robust  raftsmen  were  the  most  jovial, 
rollicking  fellows  to  be  met  with  anywhere.  None  but  the  stout- 
est men  undertook  that  work.  It  required  being  out  of  doors  in 
all  kinds  of  weather.  The  men  had  to  be  near  their  oars  every 
moment  as  w^hen  the  pilot  gave  orders  to  right  or  left  each  oar  was 
expected  to  be  dipped  in  the  next  few  seconds.  Rain,  snow  and 
sometimes  a  mixture  of  both  had  to  be  endured.  Weakly,  con- 
sumptive fellows  were  very  seldom  seen  on  a  raft.  Only  j'oung 
men  full  of  warm  blood  and  deviltry  were  right  at  home  on  a  raft 
in  the  old  times.  These  latter  named  would  pull  into  a  river  eddy 
in  any  kind  of  a  storm,  take  their  hurried  meal  and  after  all  kinds 
of  jokes  and  pranks  would  crawl  into  the  bunks  filled  with  straw, 
with  their  clothes  on  and  sometimes  frozen  stiff,  lie  down,  spoon 
fashion,  go  to  sleep,  and  not  wake  up  until  the  break  of  day  when 
the  pilot  would  jump  out  and  yell  "Tie  loose."  In  about  a  min- 
ute the  raft  would  be  gently  floating  towards  the  "Smoky  City." 
If  those  early  pioneers  had  been  obliged  to  adjust  their  cuffs,  collars 
neckties  and  see  that  the  seams  in  their  pants  had  the  desired  ap- 
pearance it  would  have  taken  more  than  one  minute  to  get  afloat 
each  morning.  And  the  air  would  be  filled  with  cusswords.  The 
pilots,  in  general,  were  men  who  used  steamboat  language  when 
they  got  in  a  hurry.  And  the  wages  for  hard  work  and  fare,  we, 
"the  hands,"  got  the  magnificent  sum  of  $10  a  trip  and  pay  our 
own  way  back. 

If  a  man  walked  back  home  he  could  clear  $1  a  day,  if  he  did  not 
"tie  up"  for  high  water  or  walk  too  slow  in  coming  back.  The 
average  walker  would  clear  about  $1  a  day  if  he  was  a  total  ab- 
stainer. If  not,  he  would  fall  short,  as  those  who  indulge  in  strong 
drink  will  testify  to,  even  at  the  present  time.  Since  the  world 
began  strong  drink  has  been  a  great  absorber  of  money,  and  the 
saddest  of  all  sad  things  is  that  all  the  money  spent  for  strong  drink 
vanished  into  the  air.  No  good  ever  came  from  it — all  bad,  bad, 
and  no  good.  Since  Adam  and  Eve's  time  it  has  a  poor  record.  If 
our  legislators  would  wait  before  passing  laws  to  protect  the  sale 
of  intoxicating  liquors  until  they  see  the  benefit  derived  from  a 
drink  of  whiskey,  taken  as  a  beverage,  they  never  would  pass  an- 
other law  of  that  kind  until  doomsday.     And  now  arises  the  quea- 


OLD  TIME  LUMBERMEN  87 

tion,  Why  cannot  our  lawmakers  make  good  laws  just  as  easy  as 
bad  laws?  No  doubt  but  what  the  people,  one  hundred  years 
hence,  will  look  back  upon  us  and  call  us  barbarians  for  making 
laws  for  the  protection  of  the  greatest  evil  on  the  face  of  God's  green 
earth.  I  said  the  greatest  evil;  I'll  make  it  stronger — I'll  say  it 
outweighs  all  other  evils  combined.  It  is  time  that  the  north 
quits  looking  down  upon  the  south.  We  ought  to  begin  to  look 
up  to  them  on  the  temperance  question.  Why,  God  bless  them! 
they  are  nearly  half  prohibition  now,  and  if  Pennsylvania  and 
New  Jersey  don't  wake  up  soon  the  south  will  be  all  prohibition 
before  they  begin  the  good  work. 

Now  I'll  get  back  to  my  subject  again.  When  those  footsore 
travelers  got  back  to  their  homes  along  the  upper  waters  of  the 
Allegheny  river  a  large  majority  would  swear  off  going  down  the 
river  on  a  raft  again.  But  when  the  next  "rafting  fresh"  came 
there  would  be  more  begging  for  trips  down  the  river  than  could  be 
used.  And  now,  about  the  price  of  lumber.  Good  pine  boards 
have  been  sold  in  Pittsburg  for  $4  per  thousand  feet  and  nearly  a 
fourth  of  it  ''clear  stuff."  Compare  this  price  with  the  present 
price  and  you  are  almost  staggered.  The  same  quality  of  lumber 
to-day  would  bring  eight  times  as  much  in  the  same  market. 

Among  the  old-time  lumbermen  in  Warren  county,  was  "Joe" 
Hall,  L.  F.  Watson,  Boon  Mead,  Erastus  Barnes,  Orris  Hall,  Guy 
Irvine,  John  McKinney,  James  McKinney,  Eben  Mead,  John 
Mead,  J.  C.  and  D.  Mead,  John  Garner,  Amasa  Ransom,  James 
Durlin,  John  Durlin,  Robert  Andrews,  Dr.  Wm.  A.  Irvine,  Samuel 
Grandin,  H.  P.  Kinnear,  a  Mr.  Funk,  Joseph  Green,  James  Eddy, 
Charles  Whitney,  J.  B.  Phillips,  Alonzo  Patch,  Joseph  Mead, 
Hardin  Hazeltine,  WiUiam  Siggins,  Daniel  Horn,  William  Dem- 
ming,  Alden  Marsh,  James  Donaldson,  Sterling  Holcomb,  John 
Brown,  William  White,  W^illiam  Frese,  Phillip  Mead,  L.  B.  Wood, 
Chapin  Hall  and  many  more  that  I  could  name.  In  fact,  there 

were  more  lumbermen  than  farmers.  Farming  was  not  the  picnic 
those  days  that  it  is  now.  Where  farms  were  cleared  up  the  stumps 
were  comparatively  green.  The  trees  had  been  but  recently  cut, 
and  the  stumps  were  green  with  tough  roots,  extending  out  in  all 
directions,  a  rod  or  two,  making  anything  but  pleasant  work  in 
ploughing  and  making  land  ready  for  the  crops.  The  main  crops 
were  hay,  oats,  corn,  wheat,  potatoes,  rye,  and  buckwheat.  What 
a  difference  between  now  and  then.  Now  the  most  of  the  stumps 
are  rotted,  or  pulled  out  with  a  machine!  Many  of  the  fences  are 
made  of  pine  stumps. 

These  fences  were  not  beautiful  to  look  at,  but  they  were  very 


m  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

durable.  The  pine  roots  were  filled  with  pitch,  and  never  would 
rot.  A  few  of  the  fences  can  be  seen  at  the  present  time  scattered 
over  the  country.  If  these  fences  had  not  gone  out  of  fashion, 
they  would  be  here  yet,  sound  and  in  good  order.  But  a  new- 
fangled way  of  farming  sprang  up  and  no  fences,  or  but  a  few,  are 
needed.  In  the  early  days,  cattle,  sheep  and  horses  ran  all  over 
the  country  at  random,  where  now  the  farmers  only  make  fences 
around  their  pasture  fields  and  keep  all  their  stock  shut  in,  so  that 
few  fences  are  found  in  the  country,  and  where  boards  and  rails 
were  used  then,   now  posts  and  wire  are  used. 

When  I  finished  writing  the  names  of  the  old  time  lumbermen 
the  thought  struck  me  that  I  would  look  over  the  list  and  see  how 
many  of  those  old  time  lumbermen  were  alive  to-day.  And,  dear 
reader,  how  many  do  you  think  are  alive  out  of  the  40  named? 
To  my  utter  surprise,  I  found  not  one  alive.  Now,  do  you  believe 
that  I  am  writing  of  ''old  timers?" 


CHAPTER  XXVII, 

NEW  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 


This  chapter  begins  with  what  might  be  named  "New  Times  in 
Oildom,"  as  it  is  a  mention  of  the  latest  in  oil  in  Youngsville.  Re- 
cently a  Pittsburg  company  commenced  drilling  a  well  in  the  row 
of  small  wells  below  town,  or  on  the  very  edge  of  the  borough.  And 
a  well  a  little  farther  west  of  that  will  be  put  down  in  the  town  by 
local  parties  and  another  four  miles  north  of  town  will  be  put  down 
by  a  foreign  company.  This  seems  like  a  revival  of  the  oil  busi- 
ness here,  two  commenced  and  two  talked  of.  If  it  can  be  arrang- 
ed to  hitch  the  two  dozen  wells  that  have  been  drilled  in  Youngs- 
ville and  vicinity  together  and  run  them  with  one  power  the  pro- 
duction would  pay  nicely.  If  oil  ever  gets  scarce  and  rises  in  price 
Youngsville  will  be  an  oil  town.  If  all  the  wells  put  down  in 
Youngsville  and  vicinity,  say  a  distance  of  three  miles  in  diameter, 
were  hitched  together  it  would  make  a  nice  thing  for  the  owner  or 
owners.  Of  course  it  would  not  be  a  big  income,  but  it  would  help 
some. 

I  will  mention  a  change  in  the  oil  business  in  our  nearby  neighbor- 
Garland,  seven  miles  west  of  Youngsville.  Before  the  pipe  line 
days,  the  oil  came  from  Enterprise,  Pleasant ville  and  that  section 


MEW  TIMES  IN  OILDOM  80 

of  the  country  by  teams  and  wagons  to  Garland,  and  there  the  P. 
&  E.  raih'oad  was  reached  and  the  oil  was  loaded  on  the  cars  for 
market.  It  came  in  barrels.  Six  or  eight  barrels  made  a  wagon- 
load,  according  to  the  size  of  the  team.  Eight  barrels  were  a 
heavy  tug  for  even  the  stoutest  of  teams.  The  roads  were  any- 
thing but  smooth  when  the  oil  business  struck  the  country.  But 
when  this  array  of  teams  began  their  tramping  of  the  mud,  a  mortar 
bed  was  soon  formed  that  was  something  awful  to  behold  and 
much  more  awful  to  navigate.  When  this  mud  became  frozen, 
but  still  not  quite  hard  enough  to  hold  a  horse's  weight  and  not 
quite  soft  enough  for  easy  wading,  it  was  killing  on  the  poor  brutes, 
and  not  easy  on  the  drivers.  I,  one  day,  met  "Bob"  McMillen, 
of  Garland,  driving  a  big  '^team  of  grays''  with  an  eight  barrel  load. 

"Bob's"  face  looked  as  though  it  had  been  through  a  threshing 
machine.  In  crossing  one  of  those  corduroy  bridges,  he  had  been 
tossed  from  his  slippery  seat  on  an  oil  barrel,  alighting  face  down- 
ward on  a  rock.  He  was  a  sight,  but  he  kept  his  place  in  that  long 
line  of  teams  until  he  reached  the  railroad  and  also  helped  unload 
his  wagon.  Garland  was  a  lively  little  town  in  those  days.  A 
heavy  lumber  business  was  carried  on. 

The  D.  A.  V.  &  P.  was  not  built  then  and  the  P.  &  E.  had  all  the 
railroad  business.  Garland  is  not  as  large  as  it  was  at  that  time, 
but  is  a  town  more  solid  and  permanent.  The  people  have  to  a 
large  extent  pursued  farming  and  depend  on  agriculture.  Oil  may 
come  and  oil  may  go,  lumber  may  come  and  lumber  may  go,  but 
the  good  soil  will  always  be  with  them.  Garland  has  soil  that  is 
rather  above  the  average  Warren  county  soil  and  the  inhabitants 
are  of  tl^e  thrifty  kind,  and  they  will  not  starve.  The  writer  was 
a  citizen  of  that  town  when  he  first  began  attending  school  and 
will  make  mention  of  the  first  and  only  punishment  that  he  ever 
received  at  any  school.  This  was  the  way  of  it:  An  old  Scotch- 
man was  the  teacher.  His  rules  were  ironclad.  One  day  when  he 
"let  the  boys  go  out,"  one  boy — a  sort  of  an  Ananias — said  the 
schoolmaster  asked  him  "to  tell  the  other  boys"  to  wade  into  the 
"West  Run,"  a  nice  little  stream  that  invitingly  passed  close  to  the 
school  house, — and  wash  their  feet.  All  attended  school  barefoot- 
ed in  those  days,  and,  of  course,  our  feet  could  bear  considerable 
washing,  and  then  not  be  any  too  clean.  Well,  believing  this  to 
be  a  reasonable  request,  we  all  pitched  in,  doing  some  lively  kick- 
ing and  splashing.  When  we  were  called  in  the  teacher  took  a  look 
at  our  drabbled  pants.  He  called  us  out  on  the  floor  and  lined  us 
up  in  a  row.  Then  he  took  his  ferule — a  great  wide  ruler — and 
grabbed  each  boy  in  rotation  by  the  fingers,  holding  the  palm  of 


90  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

the  hand  upward.  He  then  gave  each  one  five  heavy  strokes,  ap- 
plying his  whole  pedagogical  strength.  That  long,  wide  and  heavy 
ferule  had  its  effect  on  that  line  of  a  dozen  boys  in  different  ways. 
Some  would  quietly  cry,  some  would  cry  with  a  loud  voice,  some 
would  smile,  and  others  hop  and  yell.  I  took  my  medicine  with 
quiet  heroism.  The  old  bachelor  teacher  then  permitted  us  to 
take  our  seats,  and  we  put  in  the  rest  of  the  afternoon  in  consider- 
able unhappiness,  caused  by  wet  j^ants  and  tingling  fingers.  And 
thus  ended  my  first  and  only  punishment,  brought  on  by  my  faith 
in  our  Ananias. 

Before  leaving  the  subject  of  this  school  house  I  wish  to  enlighten 
the  present  generation  in  regard  to  pioneer  Sunday  Schools.  My 
first  Sunday  School  training  was  in  this  old  Garland  school  house. 
The  services  consisted  principally  of  committing  Bible  verses  to 
memory  and  reciting  them  to  the  teacher  of  the  class.  We  had  no 
leaflets,  gotten  out  by  the  best  Bible  schools  of  the  age,  as  we  have 
now.  The  exercises  were  indeed  crude.  But  we  worked  the  best 
we  could  considering  the  tools  we  had  to  work  with.  The  class 
that  I  belonged  to  had  a  scholar,  a  boy  by  the  name  of  David 
Moore.  He  had  a  good  memory,  iDut  I  had  conceit  enough  about 
me  to  think  that  I  could  equal  if  not  exceed  him  in  that  line.  Well, 
I  bantered  him  for  a  test.  We  agreed  each  to  do  our  very  best  for 
one  week  and,  for  our  own  enlightenment,  find  out  which  could 
commit  to  memory  the  largest  number  of  verses  and  recite  to  our 
teacher  at  the  end  of  the  week.  The  result  was:  Moore,  145; 
and  Brown,  105.  David  died  many  years  ago  after  living  an  ex- 
emplary, Christian  life. 

And  now  before  I  leave  this  old  school  house,  let  me  tell  a  little 
fish  story:  I  fished  for  the  beautiful  and  palatable  speckled  trout 
in  the  streams  about  Garland  in  those  long  ago  days  that  I  have 
been  talking  about.  One  day  not  satisfied  with  the  Garland 
fishing  streams  I  hied  me  away  a  couple  of  miles  to  *'Blueye"  and 
fished  all  day,  and  failed  to  get  a  nibble  at  the  hook.  When  on  my 
way  home  I  stopped  on  a  bridge,  right  in  front  of  the  old  school 
house,  and  as  I  had  quite  often  discovered  an  immense  trout,  lying 
quietly  in  quite  deep  water,  under  this  bridge,  I  took  a  peep 
through  the  cracks  of  the  floor  of  the  bridge,  and  there  lay  the  big 
speckled  trout.  I  immediately  set  myself  about  preparations  for 
his  capture.  I  took  my  hook  and  line  from  my  pocket,  tied  the 
line  to  a  long  sticky  dug  up  a  fish  worm  from  the  ground  nearby, 
baited  the  hook  with  the  worm,  and  slipped  up  noiselessly  and 
dropped  the  bait  down  through  a  convenient  crack  in  the  bridge, 
and  watched  the  result.     The  bait  landed  on  the  gravel,  on  the 


NEW  TIMES  IN  OILDOM  91 

bottom  of  the  stream,  about  10  inches  in  front  of  the  trout's  nose. 
I  watched  a  moment  but  no  motion  of  the  fish.  Just  as  I  had 
made  up  my  mind  that  the  big  fish  was  not  hungry  I  noticed  a  very 
slight  motion  of  its  tail,  but  soon  the  movement  was  almost  as  a 
lightning  flash.  He  grabbed  the  bait  on  the  run,  and  started  for  his 
hiding  place  under  the  edge  of  the  bank.  However,  his  rapid 
movement  was  stopped  by  my  long  stick  and  line.  The  result  was  I 
pulled  a  trout  up  through  that  bridge  that  weighed  a  little  over 
two  pounds.  This  convinced  me  that  fishing  at  home  was  better 
than  two  miles  away  in  Blueye  creek.  This  was  the  largest  speckl- 
ed trout  that  I  ever  saw  except  one.  Mj^  brother  and  I  were  fish- 
ing in  a  mill  pond  about  fifty  rods  from  the  bridge  that  is  spoken 
of  above,  about  one  month  after  this,  and  he  pulled  a  speckled 
trout  to  just  above  the  surface  of  the  water  and  not  being  able  to 
bring  it  ashore  let  it  sink  back  into  the  water  again.  Being  older, 
and  a  little  stronger,  I  grabbed  his  pole,  and  swung  the  fish  to  land. 
That  one  weighed  over  two  pounds  and  a  half.  Garland  had  big 
speckled  trout  about  65  years  ago. 

A  recent  flood  in  the  Brokenstraw  creek  reminded  me  of  the  old 
fellows  of  the  rafting  times  which  have  passed  away,  when  we  had 
no  railroads  to  carry  the  lumber.  Such  a  freshet  in  the  creek 
would  have  brought  joy  to  the  hearts  of  all  the  young  men  of  the 
vicinity,  for  rafts  would  be  running  daily.  Think  of  the  changes! 
When  I  piloted  my  first  raft  on  tlie  Brokenstraw  creek  there  was 
not  a  railroad  in  the  United  States.  When  the  P.  &  E.  road  was 
built  through  Youngsville  many  people  had  never  heard  a  locomo- 
tive whistle.  One  man  played  a  great  joke  on  himself.  When  he 
heard  the  whistle  of  the  old  Ohio  locomotive,  ''Zenia,"  the  con- 
struction engine,  he  siezed  his  gun  and  started  for  town,  about  a 
mile  distant,  with  the  intention  of  killing  what  he  thought  was  a 
panther. 

The  locomotive  ''Zenia,"  spoken  of  above,  was  brought  from 
some  Ohio  railroad  to  haul  the  material  for  building  the  western 
division  of  the  Philadelphia  and  Erie  railroad.  ''Dick"  Poor  was 
the  engineer  and  "Jim"  Horigan  was  the  conductor  of  the  con- 
struction train.  Scott  Patten  and  William,  his  brother,  were  the 
contractors.  Robert  Beveridge,  afterwards  cashier  of  an  Oil  City 
bank,  who  died  recently,  was  the  store  clerk.  The  people  of  this 
section  were  unanimous  in  thinking  all  those  named  were  great 
men.  They  were  bringing  a  railroad  into  our  isolated  country. 
When  the  old  locomotive  would  leave  Youngsville  for  Corry  after 
supplies,  it  would  often  be  filled  with  women  and  men,  anxious  to 
have  a  ride  on  something  propelled  by  steam.     The  crpwd  wguld 


92  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

be  so  dense  that  it  was  with  much  difficulty  that  the  fireman  could 
shovel  his  coal.  And  "Dick"  Poor,  a  big  fat  man,  would  share  a 
seat  at  the  lever  with  any  of  his  free  passengers.  He  was  the  very 
embodiment  of  good  humor.  In  fact  no  one  who  wanted  a  ride  on 
the  old  locomotive  was  turned  away  as  long  as  there  was  room  to 
sandwich  in  one  more.  Everybody  in  those  days  carried  high 
heads' and  their"f  aces  almost  said  the  words,  ''We  are  going  to  have 
a  railroad. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

OLD  TIME  OIL  TANKS. 

This  chapter  will  begin  with  a  few  remarks  on  tank  building  be- 
fore it  became  a  science.  The  first  oil  tanks  that  came  under  my 
observation  were  on  the  "Jim"  Tar  farm.  And,  Oh!  what  tanks 
they  were!  Perhaps  a  dozen  or  15  were  constructed  at  the  Phillips 
well.  They  occupied  all  the  little  narrow  strip  of  flat  land  that  lay 
between  the  well  and  Oil  Creek.  They  were  made  of  pine  plank. 
A  hole  was  dug  into  the  ground  about  eight  or  ten  feet  deep,  the 
diameter  varying  somewhere  from  8  to  12  feet.  The  top  of  the 
tanks  were  just  even  with  the  ground,  being  covered  over  with 
pine  planks  to  prevent  pedestrians  from  walking  into  them  at 
night.  The  few  old  operators  who  saw  this  kind  of  storage  will 
bear  me  out  in  saying  that  there  was  a  frightful  amount  of  money 
in  wastage.  Oil  was  selling  at  from  $8  to  $14  a  barrel,  while  the 
old  Phillips  well  was  gushing  out  hundreds  of  barrels  a  day,  and 
the  leakage  from  those  home-made  tanks  ran  into  thousands  and 
thousands  of  dollars.  And  it  would  make  a  young  operator  of  the 
present  day  laugh,  or  cry,  to  see  the  owners  getting  oil  into  and  out 
of  those  tanks.  A  three  cornered  trough  was  made  of  boards  an 
inch  thick,  but  any  width  that  came  handy,  and  the  oil  that  did 
not  escape  through  the  cracks  and  holes  in  those  crude  little  con- 
veyors ran  in  great  streams  from  the  well  to  those  things  called 
tanks.  And  when  a  pond  "freshet"  would  come  down  the  creek, 
away  the  greasy  fluid  would  go  to  the  Allegheny  river  in  a  "bulk 
boat,"  which  means  an  open  boat,  previously  filled  by  pumping 
the  oil  with  a  dandy  looking  pump  from  the  tank  to  the  boat 
through  the  wooden  pipe.  It  was  not  many  moons,  however,  be- 
fore improvements  began  to  appear  in  the  tank  line.  The  late 
Frank  Tarbell,  of  Rouseville,  soon  began  to  manufacture  a  wooden 


OLD  TIME  OIL  TANKS  93 

tank  that  could  be  set  up  above  ground.  And  soon  after  iron  pipes 
were  used  in  the  running  of  the  oil  in  and  out  of  the  tanks.  Mr. 
Tarbell,  aside  from  his  tank  business,  ran  the  only  lumber  yard  at 
Rouseville.  Ip  addition  to  all  this,  he  put  down  a  few  oil  wells  and 
found  no  dry  holes.  I  had  the  pleasure  of  supplying  the  lumber 
for  his  yard  and  tank  business,  and  will  say  right  here  that  in  my 
long  life  I  never  dealt  with  a  more  honest  and  upright  man.  Nearly 
everybody  has  heard  of  Ida  Tarbell.  At  the  time  I  speak  of,  she 
was  a  bright  and  lively  school  girl  of  16.  My  wife  and  Ida  were 
good  friends.  The  young  girl  made  visits  to  our  home  lasting 
several  weeks.  She  was  a  fine  piano  player  and  a  very  pleasant 
visitor.  At  that  time  she  had  never  thought  of  becoming  an 
authoress  of  national  repute.  The  Tarbell  family  became  resi- 
dents, in  after  years,  of  Titusville,  where  Frank  was  a  leader  in  the 
Methodist  Episcopal  church  and  in  the  up-building  of  the  city  in 
general.  He  continued  in  the  oil  business  and  other  activities  of 
life  up  to  the  time  of  his  death  not  long  ago. 

I  wish  to  make  a  few  remarks  concerning  a  very  important  part 
of  the  oil  trade,  showing  that  the  present  times  are  better  than 
''Old  Times  in  Oildom."  I'll  speak  of  the  matter  of  leasing  oil 
lands.  There  is  not  much  said  about  land  sharks  nowadays.  But 
in  those  old  times  was  there  not  "wailing  and  gnashing  of  teeth?" 
Sharpers  soon  laid  plans  to  catch  the  unwary  farmers,  and  they 
worked  their  games  for  all  they  were  worth.  To  prove  this  I 
will  give  one  case  which  is  but  one  of  many.  I  called  upon  a  man 
of  80  years  in  McKean  county.  I  found  him  sitting  on  a  chair  on 
his  porch,  churning  butter  in  the  old  fashioned  way,  moving  a 
"dasher"  up  and  down.  He  was  the  picture  of  despair.  This  is 
his  story,  given  to  me  as  he  propelled  the  churn  dasher.  "I  own 
a  100  acre  farm  that  is  without  doubt  one  of  the  best  oil  farms  in 
McKean  county.  But  I  am  one  of  the  most  poverty  stricken  men 
in  this  county.  I  leased  my  farm  to  an  oil  company  before  I  had 
given  the  subject  any  thought.  I  went  into  writings  with  this 
company  blindly.  The  conditions  of  the  lease  were  that  the  com- 
pany was  to  put  down  one  well  within  one  year.  They  fulfilled 
their  part  of  the  agreement.  The  well  went  down,  but  when  near 
the  oil  they  spoiled  the  well.  They  filled  it  about  half  full  of  sand 
and  worked  and  fussed  with  it  for  a  few  days  and  pronounced  it  a 
failure.  And  that  is  the  shape  of  things  at  present.  Good  wells 
are  being  struck  all  around  my  farm,  but  I  am  a  poverty  stricken 
man.  The  offer  is  so  low  that  it  is  an  insult  to  me.  They  know 
my  situation  and  think  that  I  will  be  obliged  to  accept  their  offer. 
Their  offer  is  so  low  that  it  would  not  help  my  family  much  when 


94  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

I  drop  off  and  I  never  will  accept  it.  I  cannot  force  them  to  clean 
out  this  well  or  put  another  down.  They  have  fulfilled  their  con- 
tract. And  I  am  in  an  awful  shape.  I  am  80  years  old  and  I  have 
the  consumption  and  I  have  30  acres  of  hay  to  cut  and  not  one 
dollar  to  hire  men  to  do  the  work.  And  I  cannot  do  a  thing  except 
the  very  lightest  of  work.  I  would  be  a  rich  man  to-day  if  not  for 
these  land  sharks,  but  as  it  now  stands  I  am  one  of  the  poorest 
men  in  this  country.  There  ought  to  be  a  law  to  hang  such  men 
as  these^  who  took  advantage  of  my  ignorance.  I  don't 
know  what  I  will  do." 

Thus  ended  my  visit  with  the  old  gentleman  and  I  left  him  look- 
ing the  very  exemplification  of  despair.  A  few  months  after  that 
I  saw  the  announcement  in  a  paper  of  his  death.  Although  really 
in  the  midst  of  wealth  he  died  a  poor  man.  But  what  a  change 
has  taken  place  in  the  last  25  years!  We  hear  of  few  such  com- 
plaints now.  This  leasing  business  has  become  a  settled,  honest 
business.  Nearly  all  farmers  are  fully  posted  in  this  leasing  busi- 
ness and  at  times  they  get  the  best  of  the  oil  man.  Both  know 
their  business,  and  there  is  a  kind  of  sameness  in  the  contracts, 
which  leaves  both  parties  satisfied.  All  pioneer  operators  well 
know  that  the  rough  and  tumble  way  of  doing  business  at  the  be- 
ginning has  now  been  systematized.  This  is  the  age  of  progress. 
Any  man  of  my  age  can  look  back  and  see  changes  that  could  not 
be  described  in  a  book  as  big  as  a  barn.  I  have  often  thought 
that  I  would  like  to  look  back  upon  this  old  world  100  years  from 
now,  and  see  how  people  would  be  doing  things.  If  such  strides 
in  new  inventions  are  made  in  the  next  100  years  as  have  been 
made  in  the  last  100  years,  what  will  this  world  look  like?  Perhaps 
the  spirits  of  the  dead  can  look  back.  The  way  things  have  been 
going  for  the  last  few  years  a  man  cannot  consistently  doubt  any- 
thing. A  few  years  ago  if  I  had  told  people  that  two  men  could 
stand  3,000  miles  apart  and  carry  on  a  conversation  with  each 
other  over  a  wire,  or  that  men  could  converse  with  each  other, 
standing  hundreds  of  miles  apart,  with  no  wire,  I  would  have  been 
pronounced  a  fit  subject  for  an  insane  asylum.  Oh,  how  will  it  be 
100  years  hence? 

I  have  just  thought  of  a  strange  happening  in  my  life,  which  is 
worthy  of  mentionmg.  The  two  extremes  of  heat  and  cold  came 
to  me  at  Conneaut  Lake,  Crawford  county.  Pa.  About  26  years 
ago  I  was  in  the  temperance  work,  organizing  Good  Templar  lodg- 
es. I  struck  the  lake  about  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  on  a  fear- 
ful cold  day.  The  first  call  I  made  was  on  the  postmaster.  I 
found  in  him  a  strong  temperance  man.     He  put  his  name  and  the 


OLD  TIME  OIL  TANKS  .  95 

names  of  members  of  his  family  on  my  lists  for  application  for 
membership,  and  invited  me  to  take  supper  with  him,  which  I  did. 
It  was  the  regular  meeting  night  of  the  A.  O.  U.  W.  Being  a  mem- 
ber of  that  order  I  attended  their  meeting,  engaged  the  use  of  their 
hall  and  organized  a  lodge  the  same  night.  The  postmaster  and 
family  did  not  come  to  the  meeting.  After  the  organization  was 
completed  I  went  to  the  only  hotel  in  town.  I  walked  into  the 
office,  travelling  bag  in  hand.  A  lot  of  men  sat  around,  and  no 
one  made  a  noise.  I  inquired  for  the  landlord.  A  big  fat  fellow 
clapped  his  hand  on  his  breast,  and  said:  "Here  he  is,  this  big  fat 
fellow."  I  asked  for  accomodations.  He  said  the  rooms  were  oc- 
cupied. Said  he,  "Some  of  the  beds  have  but  one  man  in  them, 
but  they  don't  Hke  to  double  up.''  I  asked  him  if  there  was  any 
other  place  that  a  man  could  get  shelter  at  that  time  of  night,  11 
p.  m.  lie  directed  me  to  "a  boarding  house"  down  on  the  edge  of 
the  lake,  the  last  house  at  the  end  of  the  sidewalk.  I  started  out 
in  the  zero  weather  and  pitch  dark — no  street  lamps  at  that  time. 
I  got  to  the  end  of  the  walk,  and  found  cjuite  a  large  boarding 
house.  I  pounded  on  the  front  door,  but  got  no  response.  I 
pounded  again,  with  renewed  vigor.  Same  result.  Then  I  tried 
my  lung  power — for  all  it  was  worth,  but  it  was  just  as  valuable 
as  the  pounding.  Finally  I  was  obliged  to  give  it  up  as  a  bad  job. 
The  next  day  I  learned  that  the  owner  of  the  boarding  house  was 
a  deaf  woman,  that  could  not  hear  me,  and  her  helper  was  a  foolish 
son.  Between  the  two  it  was  an  impossibility  for  a  belated  strang- 
er to  gain  admittance  to  that  boarding  house  at  11  p.  m.  I  then 
retraced  my  steps  up  town.  I  felt  somewhat  lonely,  as  everybody 
in  town  was  in  bed  and  asleep,  except  the  lone  stranger. 

My  next  move  was  to  rouse  a  doctor — one  that  I  had  initiated 
that  night  into  the  I.  O.  G.  T.  lodge — from  his  slumbers.  In  re- 
sponse to  my  knock  at  his  door,  he  appeared.  I  then  told  him  my 
situation;  that  I  had  been  turne.i  away  from  the  licensed  hotel 
because!  had  organized  a  society  that  night  which  would  work 
against  his  liquor  trade,  and  that  I  could  not  get  into  the  boarding 
house.  The  doctor  was  a  good  natured  and  well  meaning  indivi- 
dual, but  he  said  he  had  visitors  and  could  not  find  room  for  me. 
He  advised  me  to  go  to  another  of  my  Good  Templar  members. 
The  doctor  gave  me  verbal  directions.  Those  directions  were  such 
that  no  one  but  an  expert  tramp  organizer  could  follow  them  suc- 
cessfully. I  failed  as  an  expert.  I  was  told  to  go  down  street  a 
little  way,  then  cross  a  street,  then  up  a  street,  with  several  turns, 
and  stop  at  the  third  house  on  the  left.  I  undertook  the  job  of 
finding  this  brother,  as  I  had  nothing  else  before  rtie  to  do.     It  was 


96  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

not  an  easy  task — looking  for  a  strange  house  In  a  strange  town 
and  as  dark  as  a  stack  of  black  cats,  and  zero  weather  at  that. 
After  I  had  turned  as  many  corners  as  I  thought  would  fill 
the  bill  and  comted,  in  my  mind,  as  many  houses  as  the  doctor 
had  told  me  to — it  really  was  so  dark  that  I  could  not  see  a  house — 
I  walked  up  to  a  house  that  felt  like  the  one  that  I  was  in  search 
of,  and  rang  the  bell.  I  found  it  by  sense  of  feeling  and  not  by 
seemg.  A  man  came  to  the  door — I  was  at  the  wrong  house,  of 
course — and  scolded  out  the  directions  so  plainly  that  there  was 
no  misunderstanding  them. 

The  next  hunt  brought  me  to  the  hospitable  home  of  my  newly 
made  brother  Good  Templar.  I  laid  my  case  before  him  in  as 
mild  language  as  I  could  command.  His  answer  was,  "We  are  in 
just  as  bad  shape  as  the  doctor.  We  have  visitors  and  could  not 
make  room  for  you."  By  this  time  I  had  crowded  myself  into  his 
house  and  shut  the  door  to  keep  out  the  zero  air.  I  told  my  Dear 
Brother  that  as  it  was  my  first  night  in  Evansburg — the  town  was 
plain  Evansburg  then;  it  was  before  it  became  a  noted  summer 
resort — I  would  not  care  to  stay  out  of  doors,  considering  the  tem- 
perature. By  this  time  I  had  become  almost  saucy — perhaps 
desperate  would  be  the  better  word.  I  cast  my  shivering  eyes 
around  the  room  and  beheld  a  cold  wood  stove  setting  there  with 
two  sticks  of  green  wood  lying  near  it  and  a  lounge  sitting  near  it 
also.  I  said,  "Is  there  any  fire  in  that  stove?"  He  said,  "No," 
Then  I  said,  "Could  you  put  some  fire  in  it?"  He  answered  in  the 
affirmative.  Then  I  said,  "If  you  will  heat  the  stove  and  give 
me  a  comforter  I  will  sleep  on  that  lounge."  The  brother  disap- 
peared to  his  bedroom  and  consulted  his  life  partner,  and  soon 
came  with  this  answer:  "My  wife  says  she  has  no  comforter  to 
spare."  Then  I  said,  "Put  some  fire  in  that  stove  and  I  will  use 
my  overcoat  for  a  covering."  He  obeyed  my  command  and  I  laid 
down  with  all  my  clothes  on  except  my  overcoat,  which  took  the 
place  of  what  ought  to  have  been  about  three  comforters.  I  soon 
fell  into  a  sleep,  with  uncomfortable  dreams.  I  waked  up  about 
four  hours  before  daylight-  the  coldest  man  in  Crawford  county, 
Pa.  That  stove  was  as  cold  as  Alaska  and  I  was  nearly  frozen. 
When  I  would  wink,  I  could  not  only  see  stars,  but  I  could  actually 
see  half  moons.  I  examined  that  stove  and  found  not  a  live  coal 
in  it.  I  saw  two  or  three  sticks  of  green  wood  on  the  floor.  I  con- 
cluded not  to  start  a  fire  for  several  reasons.  First,  no  matches 
could  be  found;  second,  I  could  not  make  green  wood  burn  if  I 
had  had  the  matches,  and  I  did  not  feel  like  arousing  my  brother 
twice  in  one  night.     So  I  doubled  up  and  held  my  feet  in  my  hands 


STARVING  ANIMALS  97 

and  kept  up  a  little  circulation  until  my  brother  and  entertainer 
came  with  some  dry  kindling  wood  and  built  a  good  fire  in  that 
cold  stove.  After  daylight  appeared  and  after  partaking  of  a 
good  breakfast  I  said  good-bye  to  these  Good  Templars  and  I  have 
never  seen  them  since.  When  I  saw  the  doctor  at  his  office  before 
I  left  town,  he  eagerly  asked  me  if  I  got  a  bed.  I  told  him  that  I 
did  and  he  seemed  greatly  pleased  with  the  idea  that  I  had  found 
a  downy  bed.  He  never  knew  that  my  bones  were  aching  and  did 
ache  for  four  days  afterwards. 

But  now  comes  in  the  joke.  I  called  at  the  postoffice  the  next 
morning  after  my  freezing  and  the  postmaster  said:  ^'Where  did 
you  stay  last  night?  My  wife  reserved  a  bed  for  you  and  sat  up 
until  midnight,  keeping  up  a  warm  fire  for  you.  We  could  not 
get  out  to  the  meeting,  but  expected  you  to  stay  with  us.''  Just 
think  of  it!  A  woman  sitting  up  until  midnight,  keej)ing  a  good 
warm  fire  and  making  a  bed  for  me,  when  I  was  tramping  all  over 
town  hunting  for  both  and  finding  neither. 

And  now  for  the  other  extreme — the  extreme  heat.  It  will  take 
but  a  few  words  to  give  the  heat  side  of  it.  About  10  years  after 
my  work  at  Evansburg  in  organizing  the  Good  Templars,  I  organ- 
ized an  insurance  lodge.  Another  man  conducted  the  hotel.  I 
stopped  at  the  place  nearly  a  week.  My  room  was  on  the  west 
side  of  the  house.  The  first,  night  I  slept  in  that  room  was  the 
warmest  in  my  life.  I  slept  on  a  feather  bed.  It  was  in  the  middle 
of  summer  and  one  of  the  hottest  nights  I  ever  saw,  or  felt.  The 
window  had  been  open  all  day  and  the  afternoon  sun  had  poured 
through  the  window  onto  the  feather  bed,  and  to  say  that  I  had 
a  hot  night  of  it  would  be  putting  it  mildly.  There  had  been  no 
rain  for  about  six  weeks.  Now,  reader,  I  think  T  have  convinced 
you  that  I  have  met  the  two  extremes  of  heat  and  cold  in  my  ex- 
perience in  the  same  town.  I  would  hesitate  about  visiting  that 
place  again,  fearing  that  something  awful  might  happen  to 
me. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

STARVING    ANIMALS. 

There  was  a  lot  of  talk  about  Theodore  Roosevelt's  horseback 
ride  of  90  miles  in  one  day,  at  the  time  he  was  president.  I  sup- 
pose that  not  one  of  his  "subjects"  in  the  United  States  took  as 


98  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

long  a  horseback  ride  that  day  as  did  the  exchief  executive.  It  re- 
minds me  of  my  ride  from  Titusville  to  Garland,  75  years  ago,  a 
distance  of  less  than  20  miles.  I  rode  behind  my  grandfather, 
astride  of  a  big  white  horse.  When  I  reached  Garland  my  legs 
were  unable  to  do  duty  satisfactorily.  When  my  grandfather, 
George  McCray,  of  Titusville,  lifted  me  from  the  horse  and  set 
me  right  end  up  on  the  ground,  I  staggered  and  fell,  my  legs  being 
much  benumbed.  I  well  remember  this,  although  I  was  but  6 
years  old.  In  fact,  this  is  as  far  back  as  my  memory  runs.  But 
I  give  up  to  President  Roosevelt.  I  think  he  can  hold  the  cham- 
pionship for  years  and  years  to  come — at  least  so  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned. 

The  Rev.  J.  P.  Burns,  of  the  M.  E.  church,  has  been  holding  re- 
vival meetings  here.  He  is  a  faithful  Christian  worker,  and  has 
started  many  souls  on  the  Christian  pathway.  His  oratorical 
powers  are  far  above  the  average.  As  a  proof  of  the  appreciation 
of  his  parishoners,  he  has  preached  here  over  eight  years.  The 
year  he  was  called  to  the  ninth  year,  the  call  was  signed  by  about 
three  hundred  petitioners.  I  mention  these  things  in  order  to 
compare  the  present  with  the  past.  The  first  revival  that  I  wit- 
nessed was  carried  on  at  what  was  called  W^hitestown,  about  mid- 
way between  Pittsfield  and  Garland.  People  were  affected  differ- 
ently those  days.  Strong  men  would  jump,  and  dance  around, 
and  fall  helpless  to  the  floor,  and  lie  as  still  as  death  for  hours  at  a 
time.  The  leader  of  Methodism  in  Garland,  John  McCray,  fell  to 
the  floor  one  day,  about  noon,  and  lay  quietly  nearly  all  the  after- 
noon. He  was  a  large,  strong  man,  in  both  mind  and  body.  To 
young,  unsophisticated  eyes,  this  seems  a  strange  sight.  Men  and 
women,  old  and  young,  were  there  on  that  barn  floor.  They  had 
no  church  then,  and  James  White's  barn  did  its  full  duty  in  that 
line.  Generally  before  falling  there  would  be  considerable  loud 
shouting.  There  is  a  little  of  the  same  style  of  worship  carried  on 
by  the  Free  Methodists  at  the  present  time.  Indeed,  a  Free  Meth- 
odist church  stands  directly  across  the  street  from  the  home  of  the 
writer  of  this,  and  sometimes  they  are  quite  noisy,  but  the  noise  of 
a  Christian  is  music  compared  to  the  brawl  of  a  drunkard,  or  pro- 
fane man.  There  is  one  glorious  feature  about  the  Free  Methodist 
church,  and  that  is  this:  No  man  or  woman  can  remain  a  member 
who  uses  intoxicating  liquor  or  tobacco,  in  any  form.  If  all  the 
people  on  this  old  earth  of  ours,  were  Free  Methodists,  in  this  re- 
sp(  ct  what  happiness  would  reign  supreme.  Speaking  of  this  in- 
visible thing  which  the  church  people  call  "The  Power,''  I  will  say 
it  is  impossible  for  me  to  give  any  satisfactory  explanation  or 


STARVING  ANIMALS  99 

reason  for  it.  My  good  wife  and  I  drove  to  Stilson's  Hill,  many 
years  ago,  to  attend  a  United  Brethren  in  Christ  camp  meeting,  in 
the  woods.  The  preacher  was  eloquent  and  interesting,  but  he 
did  not  get  to  the  end  of  his  sermon.  When  he  had  reached,  per- 
haps, the  middle  of  his  sermon,  he  cast  his  eyes  upward  toward 
heaven  and  exclaimed:  *'He  is  coming!  He  is  coming!"  and  fell 
over  backwards  on  the  floor  of  the  platform.  Another  preacher 
took  his  place  and  finished  his  sermon  without  a  break.  The 
preacher  remained  there  until  the  meeting  closed  for  the  evening, 
and  he  had  not  moved  a  particle  when  wife  and  I  left  the  camp 
ground.  Others,  men  and  women  were  lying  around  in  the  same 
comatose  state.  I  have  witnessed  such  exhibitions  of  ''an  unseen 
power"  many  times  in  my  life,  but  I  am  no  nearer  solving  the 
problem  now  than  I  was  in  the  long  ago. 

There  is  quite  a  contrast  between  the  winter  this  year  and  one  I 
recall  about  61  years  ago.  The  snow  fell  about  four  feet  deep  and 
lay  on  the  ground  three  months  without  thawing.  Not  an  icicle 
was  seen  on  the  buildings  for  three  months.  Hay  was  "worth  its 
weight  in  gold."  On  the  fifth  day  of  April  my  father  and  I  drove 
a  team  the  length  of  the  Brokenstraw  creek  hunting  for  hay  or 
some  kind  of  feed  for  our  cattle,  and  found  two  dozen  sheaves  of 
oats.  The  snow  was  three  feet  deep  the  fifth  day  of  the  second 
month  of  spring.  It  thawed  just  a  trifle,  enough  to  melt  the  snow 
in  the  road  and  to  make  a  little  trickling  stream  of  water.  It  was 
a  hard  winter  for  the  poor  cattle,  horses  and  sheep.  There  was  too 
much  snow  in  the  woods.  It  was  so  deep  that  the  deer  could  not 
wade  through  it  and  browse  on  the  shrubbery,  their  usual  winter 
diet,  and  the  cattle  could  not  do  any  better  than  the  wild  animals. 
Both  the  deer  and  the  tame  animals  died  by  the  hundreds.  My 
father  lost  a  very  valuable  ox.  It  was  starved  to  death,  and  a 
half  dozen  cows  did  not  make  good  shadows  in  the  spring.  Such 
a  thing  could  not  take  place  now,  as  railroads  are  great  distributors. 
If  any  article  becomes  scarce  in  one  place  and  plenty  in  another 
place,  the  railroads  will  even  up  things.  Just  stop  and  think  a 
moment.  If  we  had  been  blessed  with  railroads  at  that  time  not 
one  of  those  poor  cattle,  horses,  sheep,  etc.,  would  have  died.  A 
farmer  was  simply  obliged  to  stand  and  see  his  poor  suffering  an- 
imals die,  with  no  earthly  chance  to  feed  th(^,ni. 

Many  people  are  fighting  railroads  to-day  who  have  never  lived 
without  them.  They  do  not  realize  the  fact  that  all  the  new  in- 
ventions of  the  last  70  years  are  real  godsends  to  the  very  people 
who  are  fighting  them.  If  those  fighters  had  seen  81  years  of 
progress,  as  has  the  writer  of  these  lines,  they  would  not  be  ready 


100  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

for  fight  every  time  some  little  mishap  occurs.  And  in  addition  to 
the  great  and  wonderful  benefits  of  the  railroads  are  the  benefits 
of  the  telegraph,  telephone  and  trolley  lines.  Now  a  business  man 
can  sit  at  his  desk  in  his  office  and  do  business  all  over  town.  He 
can  do  more  in  10  minutes  at  that  phone  than  he  could  do  a  few 
years  ago  by  footing  it  over  town  all  day.  He  can  do  business 
with  another  man  10  or  15  miles  out  in  the  country  in  a  minute, 
when  before  Edison's  invention  carriage  hire  and  a  whole  day's 
time  would  have  been  required;  or,  if  the  business  necessitates  a 
personal  interview,  this  business  man  can  step  into  a  trolley  car, 
and  within  a  few  minutes  he  is  face  to  face  with  his  customer.  In 
addition  to  this,  if  he  wishes  to  talk  face  to  face  or  tongue  to  tongue, 
he  can  interview  a  man  a  thousand  miles  away.  On  the  other 
hand,  if  a  farmer  wants  to  do  business  with  a  townsman,  he  can 
step  to  his  'phone  and  in  a  minute  the  business  is  transacted.  A 
few  years  ago  this  same  farmer  would  be  obliged,  on  all  occasions 
requiring  his  presence  in  town,  to  go  to  the  barn,  harness  up  old 
"Jim"  or  *'Tom,"  hitch  him  to  the  buggy,  if  the  farmer  had  one. 
If  not  he  would  have  to  go  to  a  neighbor  and  borrow  one,  and  drive 
over,  at  times,  very  rough  roads  to  town  and  back,  losing  a  half  or 
a  whole  day. 

And  then  another  great  thing  for  the  farmer,  outside  of  the  in- 
ventions, is  the  custom  which  has  grown  up  like  a  mushroom  re- 
cently of  the  merchant  delivering  goods  at  the  door  of  any  custom- 
er regardless  of  the  distance  from  the  merchant's  place  of  business. 
All  the  farmer  has  to  do  is  to  give  a  ring  at  his  'phone  and  say 
'*Hello,"  and  the  goods  are  there  when  the  horn  blows  caUing  the 
field  men  to  the  table.  Is  it  any  wonder  that  the  farmers  are  pay- 
ing off  their  mortgages  on  their  farms?  They  are  saving  millions 
of  dollars  in  time  saved  by  these  late  inventions  of  big-brained 
men  like  Edison.  In  fact,  the  farmer  is  the  favored  person  now. 
"Uncle  Sam"  is  really  partial  to  him.  The  United  States  mail 
carrier  leaves  his  mail  matter  in  boxes  at  his  door,  while  the  in- 
habitants of  a  town  not  large  enough  for  free  delivery  must  travel 
a  mile  or  two  and  stand  at  the  post  office  window  until  the  "mail 
is  changed"  and  handed  out  to  him.  The  farmers  will  soon  be, 
and  some  of  them  are  now,  riding  in  automobiles  and  looking  down 
on  common  folks.  And  the  millions  of  dollars  that  they  are  sav- 
ing in  time  alone  will  be  expended  in  beautifying  this  favored 
country  for  as  a  class  they  are  the  most  economical  of  all  workers. 
Edison  never  dreamed  of  the  unspeakable  benefits  and  the 
many  blessings  he  has  brought  to  mankind. 

I  have  wandered  from  my  subject  of  the  deep  snow.     But  I  have 


OLD  TIME  QUADRILLE  BAND  101 

never  experienced  such  a  witner  again.  Several  very  "soft"  win- 
ters have  come  and  gone  since  that  time.  The  young  people  of 
this  country  will  remember  that  10  or  12  years  ago,  we  were  not 
favored  with  one  day  of  good  sleighing  all  winter.  Farmers  plow- 
ed nearly  every  day  and  could  have  plowed  every  day  if  they  had 
wished  to  do  so.  Another  winter,  45  or  50  years  ago  was  its  equal. 
My  father  had  prepared  for  an  all-winter  log  hauling  with  two  yoke 
of  oxen.  He  had  but  one  outfit,  so  he  bought  another  yoke  of 
oxen,  bobsleds  and  chains,  and  all  was  ready  for  the  hauling  of 
those  logs  one  and  a  half  miles  to  Youngsville,  to  the  nearest  mill, 
to  have  them  cut  into  boards,  but  not  a  day  of  sledding  came,  and 
consequently  not  a  log  was  hauled.  By  the  time  of  the  next  sleigh- 
ing, one  year  afterwards,  the  logs  were  so  badly  decayed  and  hurt 
by  the  worms  that  we  had  ''cull"  boards  when  they  were  sawed. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

OLD  TIME  QUADRILLE  BAND. 

In  another  chapter  I  spoke  of  dancing,  but  gave  but  little  dancing 
news.  It  will  be  interesting  to  the  people  of  to-day  to  hear  a  little 
about  the  dancing  of  the  olden  days.  Time  was  when  there  was 
more  dancers  in  this  part  of  the  country  than  musicians.  The 
violinists  who  could  play  and  call  quadrilles  at  one  and  the  same 
time  were  few  and  far  between.  Warren  did  not  have  a  fiddler  in 
the  borough  when  your  humble  servant  belonged  to  a  quadrille 
band  composed  of  players  from  Youngsville  and  Pittsfield,  who 
had  a  corner  on  the  dancing  music  in  all  Warren  county.  We 
played  for  private  parties  at  Orris  HalPs,  Thomas  Struthers'  and 
other  "upper  ten"  families  of  the  county  seat.  One  night  we  took 
but  a  part  of  our  band,  William  Stright  and  son,  Orra,  and  myself. 
When  we  arrived  at  the  stone  mansion  of  the  Hon.  Thomas  Struth- 
ers we  found  more  guests  than  could  dance  in  the  parlors  down 
stairs.  We  were  obliged  to  split  our  band  and  Stright  and  son  took 
the  upstairs  crowd  and  I  the  down  stairs  crowd.  The  Struthers 
house  contained  an  organ  up  stairs  and  a  piano  down  stairs.  I 
lacked  a  piano  player  to  make  my  music  acceptabli  and  I  was  more 
than  pleased  when  the  cultured,  handsome  and  amiable  daughter 
of  Mr.  Struthers  offered  her  services  and  sat  down  and  played  a 
beautiful  accompaniment  from  10  p.  m.  until  4  a.  m.  without  miss- 
ing a  set,  although  her  young  lady  cousin  offered  to  give  l^er  ^  rest 


102  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

by  taking  her  place  at  the  piano.  She  refused,  saying  that  she  was 
not  in  the  least  fatigued.  A  few  years  after  I  read  of  her  death 
with  much  regret.  The  remembrance  of  her  helping  me  out  with 
my  side  of  the  music  that  night  still  lingers.  Without  her  piano 
my  lone  violin  would  have  given  out  doleful  strains  for  that  large 
crowd  of  Warren  people. 

Being  the  only  quadrille  band  in  the  county  and  our  music  being 
in  demand,  gave  us  somewhat  of  a  high  opinion  of  ourselves,  so  we 
arranged  a  series  of  balls  in  this  section  of  the  country. 

We  commenced  the  round  at  Tidioute.  The  young  people  of 
Grandintown  did  not  tumble  over  one  another  to  reach  our  ball. 
Our  aggregation  of  three  musicians  only  made  enough,  at  so  much 
per  couple,  to  pay  our  lodging,  board  and  horse  feed.  We  owned 
our  own  rig  or  we  should  have  failed  to  reach  our  appointment  at 
the  next  town,  Titusville,  where  neither  Drake  nor  oil  was  known 
at  that  time.  When  we  arrived  at  Titusville  we  found  a  rather 
poor  prospect  of  a  turnout.  Jack  McCray,  then  a  mill  man,  came 
to  the  rescue,  and  saved  us  from  an  utter  failure  by  getting  out 
among  the  young  dancers,  with  whom  he  seemed  to  be  immensely 
popular,  and  in  his  impetuous  way,  got  out  enough  of  his  young 
friends  to  save  us  from  utter  defeat.  The  next  morning  we  found 
that  we  lacked  one  dollar  of  enough  money  to  pay  our  hotel  bill. 
As  there  was  but  one  hotel  in  town,  the  landlord  had  a  monopoly 
of  the  business,  and  his  bill  being  a  trifle  larger  than  the  Tidioute 
bill,  left  us  one  big  dollar  short.  But  we  soon  found  that  his  con- 
fidence in  us  fiddlers  was  as  big  as  his  bill.  He  cheerfully  took  our 
word  for  it,  that  we  would  send  him  the  dollar  after  we  reached  the 
the  moneyed  town  of  Youngsville.  And  we  kept  our  word.  On 
our  arrival  home  we  enclosed  a  yellow  gold  dollar,  and  our  band 
thereby  kept  itself  in  good  financial  standing.  Our  band  held  a 
council  of  war,  and  in  about  a  minute  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
disappointment  would  come  to  but  few  if  we  would  call  off  our 
appointments  ahead  of  us,  and  take  the  shortest  route  to  our  homes 
in  the  Brokenstraw  valley.  When,  after  a  pleasant  sleighride 
through  Enterprise,  and  where  Grand  Valley  now  stands — no 
town  there  at  that  time — the  same  with  Torpedo,  Garland,  we 
called  at  Pittsfield,  where  on  short  notice  the  sprightly  young 
people  of  that  place  got  up  a  dance  that  exceeded  both  the  others. 
Thus  ended  our  self  appointed  dances — only  three  miles  from  home. 
We  took  this  view  of  the  whole  thing;  that  what  we  lost  in  time, 
we  made  up  in  knowledge.  We  learned  the  fact  that  the  young 
people  knew  when  they  wanted  to  dance  better  than  we  did. 

After  that  we  waited  until  we  were  sent  for  before  going  to  play 


OLD  TIME  QUADRILLE  BAND  103 

for  a  dance.  And  we  were  sometimes  sent  for  as  often  as  every 
night  in  the  week.  Once  in  awhile  two  dances  would  come  off  the 
same  night.  Then  we  would  be  obliged  to  divide  our  band.  Sev- 
eral times  I  was  obliged  to  "go  it  alone''  both  calling  and  sawing  on 
the  violin.  I  think  I  did  more  poor  playing  those  days  than  any 
other  man.  I  never  was  a  match  for  Ole  Bull,  but  as  there  were  no 
Y.  M.  C.  A's,  basket  ball  gymnasiums  or  women's  clubs,  the  young 
people  had  to  do  something,  and  that  something  was  shaking  the 
''heavy"  fantastic  heel.  Some  call  it  the  ''light  fantastic  toe," 
but  I  like  to  have  things  changed. 

But  nothing  lasts  forever.  As  time  passed  along  musicians  be- 
came more  plenty,  some  migrating  to  our  country  and  some  ed- 
ucating themselves.  I  finally  bought  a  book  called  "The  Violin 
Without  a  Master."  It  was  a  good  and  appropriate  name  for  me. 
I  never  became  master  of  the  violin,  consequently  it  was  a  violin 
without  a  master  at  our  house.  The  first  outsider  that  came  to 
Youngsville  to  compete  with  our  band  and  capture  the  affections 
of  the  best  looking  young  ladies,  was  a  very  prepossessing  young 
man  named  "Bob"  Cross.  He  captured  the  whole  crowd  of  danc- 
ing young  people,  both  male  and  female.  He  had  only  to  throw 
out  a  hint  that  he  wished  a  benefit  and  the  ball  room  would  be 
crowded  in  a  few  hours.  "Bob"  ran  the  town,  as  far  as  the  young 
people  were  concerned,  and  many  old  people  thought  he  was  "all 
wool  and  a  yard  wide."  All  doors  were  open  to  "Bob"  Cross,  He 
had  only  to  crook  his  finger  and  what  he  wanted  was  forthcoming. 
He  was  an  extremely  sweet  player  on  the  violin,  but  he  "played 
by  ear."  He  never  learned  to  read  music.  But  he  was  a  sort  of 
Blind  Tom  in  picking  up  a  tune  as  soon  as  he  heard  it.  Politics 
came  in  handy  then  and  we  made  him  a  member  of  our  quadrille 
band,  fearing  that  he  would  run  us  out  entirely.  He  played  sev- 
eral years  in  our  band,  then  married  into  a  wealthy  family,  finally 
dying  a  few  years -afterwards. 

Others  who  have  helped  me  out  with  my  music  and  have  since 
passed  away  were  Josiah  Duprey,  who  was  an  honest,  easy  going 
young  man,  and  who  died  about  four  years  ago;  Enoch  Duprey, 
brother  to  Josiah;  William  Stright,  a  composer  of  music,  who  led 
a  quadrille  band  many  years,  and  who  in  his  riper  years  worked  in 
a  sawmill  at  Vowinkle,  Forest  county.  Pa.,  for  a  period  of  ten  years 
and  loved  his  violin  so  well  that  he  plajred  nearly  every  evening 
for  the  free  entertainment  of  the  hardy  lumbermen  at  his  boarding 
house,  and  who  died  about  five  years  ago — sending  out  sweet 
strains  from  his  violin  until  10  p.  m.,  then  went  to  sleep.  In  the 
morning  he  was  found  dead  in  bed.     He  had  played  his  last  tune. 


104  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

To  my  notion,  Mr.  Stright's  only  daughter,  Nellie,  is  the  best  pian- 
ist in  the  city  of  Bradford,  where  she  now  resides.  I  know  this  is 
high  praise,  as  Bradford  is  full  of  fine  pianists.  His  only  son,  Orra, 
is  one^  of  the  best  violinists  of  the  country.  Chester  Shaw,  the 
bass  viohn  player  of  our  band,  met  a  tragic  death  at  Clarendon,  Pa., 
by  falling  into  a  tank  of  oil  and  perishing  by  asphyxiation.  An- 
other, William  Jewell,  a  justice  of  the  peace  for  many  years  and  a 
merchant  of  North  Warren,  died  eight  or  ten  years  ago.  Of  the 
many  who  have  helped  me  make  music  for  the  dancers  of  long  ago, 
none  but  Calender  Arthur,  of  Warren,  Pa.,  and  Perry  Acocks,  of 
Pittsfield,  Pa.,  are  alive  to-day. 

Before  leaving  the  subject  I  must  speak  of  one  novelty.  At  one 
time  our  band  consisted  of  William  Stright,  justice  of  the  peace; 
Calender  Arthur,  constable  of  Brokenstrw  township.  Pa.,  Chester 
Shaw,  constable  of  Pittsfield  township.  Pa.,  and  G.  W.  Brown, 
coroner,  Youngsville  borough,  Warren  county.  Pa.  This  gave  us  a 
full  band  of  peace  officers — enough  to  keep  peace  at  all  times.  In 
those  days  the  balls  were  made  up  from  mixed  crowds.  It  was 
seldom  that  an  invitation  party  was  held.  It  required  the  whole 
population  to  make  a  ''big  crowd."  The  oil  country  crowds  had 
not  "arrived"  at  the  time  I  am  speaking  of.  And  strnge  to  say  at 
all  those  private  parties  and  public  balls  I  never  saw  a  fistic  en- 
counter in  the  rooms  where  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  were  when  I 
was  one  of  the  musicians.  It  is  true  in  writing  ''Old  Times  in  Oil- 
dom"  I  mentioned  a  knock  down  on  a  dancing  floor  at  Petroleum 
Centre,  but  I  was  not  one  of  the  regular  musicians.  I  only  assisted 
the  regular  musicians  temporaril}^  or  until  I  was  forever  frightened 
away  and  stopped  helping  to  make  music  for  "wicked  dancers." 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

CHURCHES  IN  THE  OLD  TIMES. 


I  will  next  mention  the  growth  of  the  churches  in  the  Broken- 
straw  valley.  The  first  church  that  I  in  my  babyhood  attended, 
was  no  church  at  all.  It  was  a  school  house — my  first  school  house. 
We  sat  on  pine  slabs,  with  holes  bored  in  them,  and  with  wooden 
legs  driven  into  the  holes.  These  made  seats,  but  very  uncom- 
fortable ones.  There  were  no  backs  to  them.  The  occupants 
were  obliged  to  sit  up  straight,  with  no  back  support,  or  else  they 


CHURCHES  IN  THE  OLD  TIMES  105 

were  forced  to  lean  forward.  The  singing  was  carried  on  without 
the  assistance  of  musical  instruments.  No  church  in  Warren 
county  had  an  organ  to  lead  the  untrained  singers.  Robert  and 
Moses  Andrews,  two  brothers,  were  the  ''standbys'^  in  that  school 
house  in  the  singing  line.  Robert  sang  soprano,  and  ''Mose"  sang 
bass.  To  my  young  ears  that  bass  voice  of  '^Mose"  Andrews  was 
.  melody,  indeed.  It  gave  me  a  kind  of  liking  for  the  bass  part  in 
music,  either  instrumental  or  vocal,  which  is  still  within  me  at  the 
age  of  four  score.  It  is  very  doubtful  about  my  living  long  enough 
to  lose  my  liking  for  this  part  of  a  quartette.  Alto  comes  next  in 
the  four  parts  of  a  quartette,  but  I  had  not  heard  the  sweet  and 
captivating  strains  of  the  part  named  alto  at  that  time.  Soprano 
and  bass  was  the  whole  dependence  in  all  churches  in  Warren 
county.  This  congregational  singing,  at  the  old  log  school  house 
at  Garland,  was  participated  in  by  John  McCray,  the  real  standby 
of  the  church — the  Mandavilles,  the  Hamiltons,  Browns — the 
father  and  mother  of  the  writer — the  Uptons  and  many  others, 
had  fine,  natural  untrained  voices,  and  better  melody  than  one 
would  suppose — considering  the  absence  of  tenor  and  alto — floated 
out  of  the  windows  and  doors  of  that  old  school  house.  The  preach 
ers  at  this  "church"  were  just  such  as  could  be  picked  up  occasion- 
ally. The  Bible  expounders  of  those  days  were  not  men  of  very 
much  "book  larnin',''  but  in  the  matter  of  real  Christianity  they 
were  full  equals  of  the  college  bred  doctors  of  divinity  at  the  present 
time. 

Well,  in  the  course  of  time,  our  family  flitted  down  the  creek  as 
far  as  Youngsville.  There  we  attended  a  frame  church,  with  a 
regular  preacher.  This  church  was  a  good  type  of  the  church  of 
that  day.  It  had  no  steeple  or  belfry.  It  was  a  square  sort  of 
structure,  with  a  gallery  all  around,  except  the  end  where  the  tall 
candlestick  pulpit  stood.  The  preacher  was  obliged  to  climb  a 
pair  of  stairs  to  get  into  it  and  when  he  reached  it  he  had  barely 
room  to  stand  in  it.  This  pulpit  had  every  indication  of  a  scarcity 
of  lumber  and  space  for  its  diminutive  proportions.  The  choir 
here  had  tenor  and  alto,  in  addition  to  the  other  parts  necessary 
for  the  making  of  a  good  church  choir.  This  was  the  only  church 
in  Youngsville  and  was  a  Methodist  church,  with  good  and  faith- 
ful members.  The  standbys  were  the  Meads,  Davises,  Whitneys, 
Siggins,  McKinneys,  Hulls,  Arthurs,  Kinnears  and  others.  The 
main  singers  in  the  choir  were  the  Arthurs  and  Davises.  The  choir 
sat  up  in  the  gallery  opposite  the  pulpit.  After  a  few  years  an  in- 
novation came  in  the  shape  of  a  big  bass  viol  played  by  a  stump 
puller  named  Evans.     It  was  a  short  lived  innovation,     After  the 


106  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

first  hymn  was  sung,  with  bass  viol  accompaniments,  an  old  mem- 
ber of  the  church  whose  word  was  law  walked  down  the  aisle, 
climbed  the  stairs  and  came  in  front  of  the  choir  and  pointing  his 
finger  at  the  huge  instrument  exclaimed  in  a  voice  not  easily  mis- 
understood :  "Take  that  ungodly  fiddle  out  of  this  choir  and  keep 
it  out."  The  command  was  obeyed,  with  alacrity,  and  that  was 
the  first  and  last- bass  viol  music  for  that  Youngsville  choir.  When 
the  preacher  read  the  next  hymn  prof ound  silence  followed,  not  a 
chirp  was  heard  from  any  member  of  the  choir.  Finally  a  weak 
C^uayering  voice  struck  up  a  hymn  and  we  had  congregational 
smging  in  that  church  for  a  long  time.  Then  as  time  passed  by  a 
choir  was  organized  and  strange  to  relate,  an  organ  crept  into  this 
last  organization  with  but  little  opposition.  A  gradual  change 
came  in  music  matters.  The  old  member  who  vetoed  the  bass  viol 
was  just  as  honest  in  his  opinion  that  instrumental  music  was  an 
evil,  as  the  old  members  of  to-day  are  that  instrumental  music  is 
a  blessing.  If  the  old  gentleman  was  alive  to-day,  and  could  step 
into  General  Charles  Miller's  Sunday  School  in  the  First  Baptist 
church  of  Franklin,  Pa.,  and  hear  the  orchestra  of  a  dozen  pieces 
manipulated  by  professional  musicians,  and  hear  the  soul  stirring 
religious  hymns  that  delight  the  hearts  of  a  thousand  worshippers, 
both  young  and  old,  every  Sunday  afternoon,  the  year  around,  he 
would  no  doubt  enjoy  the  sweet  and  soft  Heavenly  strains  as  much 
as  any  other  listener.  No  man  in  Youngsville  was  a  more  devout 
worshipper  than  he,  and  no  man  who  knew  this  old  man  here  on 
earth  has  the  least  doubt  of  his  listening  for  these  many  years  to 
the  Heavenly  orchestra  that  makes  sacred  music  in  the  golden 
streets  of  the  New  Jerusalem. 

Well,  time  moves  on,  and  the  church  of  Youngsville  has  been 
sold  to  the  Lutheran  Swedish  congregation,  who  have  torn  it  down 
and  replaced  it  by  a  beautiful  brick  structure  of  late  design,  and 
the  M.  E.  congregation  has  a  brick  building  to  worship  in.  In  ad- 
dition to  the  two  churches  mentioned  above,  Youngsville  has  a 
Free  Methodist  church  and  an  Episcopal  church,  the  two  latter 
named  built  of  wood,  and  before  many  moons  the  United  Brethren 
in  Christ  will  have  a  brick  church  building  here. 

And  now  a  few  remarks  as  to  many  churches  in  many  places  in 
this  country.  I'll  begin  with  the  Cumberland,  Tarentum,  Pa. 
I  organized  an  insurance  lodge  there  about  18  years  since.  It  is  the 
sociability  and  lack  of  sociability  of  churches  that  I  will  speak  of. 
I  had  for  my  chaplain  the  pastor  of  the  church  named  above.  I 
attended  the  regular  Sunday  services  at  his  church  the  first  Sunday 
I  spent  in  town.    No  man  or  woman  spoke  to  me.     Not  one  word 


CHURCHES  IN  THE  OLD  TIMES  107 

to  ''the  stranger  in  their  midst."  The  next  day  I  met  the  pastor 
and  in  a  kind  of  non-complaining  way  told  him  that  sociability 
was  at  a  low  ebb  in  his  church.  His  answer  was;  "T  am  well 
aware  of  it  and  have  been  ever  since  I  came  here.  Next  Sunday 
I  will  preach  a  sermon  on  sociability."  I  was  on  hand  the  next 
Sunday  and  the  good  man  preached  a  very  eloquent  sermon.  After 
the  benediction  was  pronounced  I  remained  standing  at  the  end 
of  my  pew  until  nearly  the  entire  congregation  had  passed  out,  by 
me,  waiting  for  a  friendly  handshake.  I  waited  in  vain.  One  old, 
bald-headed,  fat,  good  natured  looking  fellow  came  up  the  aisle. 
My  hopes  went  up.  Surely  such  a  pleasant  face  and  open  counte- 
nance would  not  follow  the  example  of  those  who  had  preceeded 
him.  But,  like  the  Priest  and  the  Levite  who  "passed  by  on  the 
other  side,"  his  eyes  were  steadily  fixed  on  the  church  door  and 
soon  he  was  wending  his  way  to  his  Sunday  dinner  without  a  word 
for  me.  I  gave  all  a  fair  chance  to  cheer  the  heart  of  a  lonely 
stranger,  but  none  seemed  to  act  as  if  the  forcible  sermon  of  their 
pastor  had  "struck  in."  And  the  only  hope  I  had  was  that  the 
sermon  might,  like  vaccination,  work  by  degrees  by  giving  it  time. 
The  next  place  I  attended  church  was  in  a  high  toned  edifice  in 
Pittsburg.  Tarentum  was  reversed  here.  A  very  pleasant  usher 
conducted  me  to  a  centrally  located  seat  and  soon  the  master  of 
that  pew  came  with  his  family,  wife,  daughter  and  son.  After  the 
benediction  they  introduced  themselves  in  such  an  agreeable  man- 
ner that  I  could  not  help  drawing  a  comparison.  The  next  church 
visited  was  the  First  M.  E.  church  of  Parkersburg,  W.  Va.  I  hap- 
pened to  sojourn  in  the  West  Virginia  city  three  months.  During 
that  length  of  time  I  attended  the  First  M.  E.  church  10  times. 
Here  I  found  the  members  all  "Priests  and  Levites."  They  all 
"passed  by  on  the  other  side,"  except  the  pastor  and  his  wife  and 
one  alderman  and  his  wife.  These  four  had  joined  my  insurance 
lodge  and  had  a  fraternal  hand  to  offer  me.  As  to  the  effect  of 
the  lack  of  sociability,  I  will  state  the  case  of  a  railroad  official's 
wife.  She  informed  me  that  she  had  lived  in  Parkersburg  two 
years,  had  attended  that  church  regularly  and  had  seldom  been 
spoken  to.  She  held  a  transfer  letter  from  another  M.  E.  church 
but  she  had  concluded  never  to  offer  her  letter.  But  now  I  come 
to  the  contrast.  I  was  stopping  at  the  Palace  hotel  and  one  Sunday 
evening  got  into  conversation  with  a  Presbyterian  salesman  from 
Cincinnati.  He  invited  me  to  go  with  him  to  the  Presbyterian 
church.  He  said  he  was  a  stranger  in  the  city  and  would  like  to 
have  company.  I  told  him  that  I  was  a  Methodist,  but  the  M.  E. 
church  that  I  had  been  attending  there  was  but  a,  little  above  zero 


108  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

and  I  would  try  the  Presbyterians  that  night;  but  as  the  Presby- 
terians had  a  great  new  stone  church,  resembling  a  fine  theatre,  I 
had  my  doubts  about  finding  a  warmer  atmosphere  there  than  at 
the  M.  ]^  But  there  is  nothing  like  making  the  effort  to  find  out 
things.  So  I  accompanied  my  new  made  friend  and  we  were  soon 
seated  in  a  pew  behind  two  ladies,  who  were  dressed  in  their  "silks 
and  satins."  We  were  not  more  than  seated  by  a  warm  hearted 
and  smiling  southern  usher  than  both  ladies  handed  their  hynm 
books  to  us  and  gallantly  deprived  themselves  of  those  useful  ar- 
ticles. When  the  services  closed  these  pleasant  Christian  ladies 
took  us  by  the  hand,  inquired  about  our  place  of  residence  and  in- 
vited us  to  come  again.  It  had  been  so  long  since  I  had  been 
treated  that  way  I  hardly  knew  how  to  act. 

The  next  Sunday  evening  I  attended  the  M.  E.  church  South 
and  there  I  found  a  duplicate  of  the  Presbyterian  reception,  only 
more  so.  A  fine  gentleman,  son  and  two  daughters,  composed 
the  quartette,  and  that  church  had  fine  singing.  The  leader,  or 
father  of  the  helpers,  invited  me  to  dinner  the  next  day  and  I  had 
good  cheer  all  around,  but  a  surprise  awaited  me  when,  in^addition 
to  the  vocal  music,  they  brought  forth  four  instruments  and  rend- 
ered some  ver^  fine  band  music.  Now  don't  think  me  egotistical, 
for  I  am  writmg  this  to  show  the  great  difference  between  social 
churches  and  non-social  churches.  No  one  but  a  wanderer  can 
fully  appreciate  these  things. 

Now  let  me  say  a  word  about  the  ministers  of  the  gospel.  In 
all  my  organizing  work  in  getting  up  and  organizing  475  lodges,  I 
never  met  a  better  class  of  men  than  the  preachers  of  all  denomi- 
nations. They  are  the  most  provident  men  found  in  the  country. 
Not  more  than  one  in  30  omits  to  carry  insurance  for  the  families. 
They  look  at  it  in  this  light:  They  are  not  expected  to  make  and 
lay  up  a  fortune  to  protect  their  families  when  they  are  gone. 
They  cannot  do  it  and  follow  the  work  of  their  Lord  and  Master, 
but  they  can  pay  a  dollar  or  two  a  month  from  their  salaries  and 
keep  their  families  safe  at  all  times  and  they  do  it.  No  class  of 
men  in  the  country  are  so  generally  insured.  A  preacher  without 
insurance  is  indeed  a  novelty.  I  have  taken  into  insurance  lodges 
over  300  preachers  of  different  denominations.  Indeed,  I  have 
never  found  a  Disciple  preacher  in  all  my  work  in  five  states  who 
did  not  become  a  member  of  one  of  my  lodges,  securing  his  family 
against  want  at  the  time  of  his  death.  I  had  five  ministers  of  the 
gospel  in  one  lodge  in  Clarion,  Pa.,  four  M.  E.  clergymen  and  one 
Baptist.  About  a  dozen  of  my  clerical  members  died,  leaving 
from  $1,000  to  $2,600  for  the  protection  of  their  families.     One 


GODIBLESS  THE  SWEDES  109 

Presbyterian  minister,  Rev.    Isaac  Smith  of  Tonawanda,  N.  Y., 
died  four  months  after  joining,  leaving  his  wife  $2,600. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

GOD  BLESS  THE  SWEDES. 

I  am  going  back  ahttle  beyond  "oildom"  to  begin' this  particular 
article.  My  mind  wanders  back  50  years  to  a  time  when  we  had 
springtime  all  winter.  In  those  days  the  main  business  was  either 
making  shingles  or  boards,  and  the  hauling  of  this  lumber  made 
lively  times.  From  the  break  of  day  until  long  after  dark  a  steady 
stream  of  teams  lined  the  streets.  Nearly  every  farm  from  Youngs- 
ville  to  Sugar  Grove  and  beyond  into  York  state  had  pine  trees 
growing  on  the  uncleared  portions.  And  the  uncleared  was  gener- 
ally the  largest  part  of  the  farm.  All  that  a  majority  of  the  farm- 
ers had  in  those  days  was  a  log  house  in  the  woods,  with  a  very  few 
acres  cleared.  Each  settler  had  a  log  shingle  shanty  close  by  his 
domicile,  where,  from  4  o'clock  in  the  morning  until  10  at  night, 
the  faithful  builder-up  of  this  wild  country  would  be  found  either 
''riving"  or  shaving  shingles.  If  he  had  a  voice  for  singing  he 
would  use  it  for  all  it  was  worth.  Trouble  seldom  came  to  him  be- 
cause of  the  fact  that  there  was  but  little  in  the  country  to  be 
troubled  about — no  railroad  right  of  way  across  his  farm  to  worry 
about ;  no  trolley  lines  being  surveyed  through  his  orchard,  garden  or 
dooryard;  no  telegraph  poles  being  set  near  ''the  old  oaken  bucket 
that  hung  in  the  well;"  no  telephone  agent  putting  a  machine  in 
his  house  despite  his  remonstrances;  no  bicycles  bumping  up 
against  him;  no  automobiles  chasing  him  into  the  fence  corner  and 
causing  his  horse  to  run  away ;  no  millionaires  being  killed  by  their 
steam  or  gasoline  wagons;  no  railroad  accidents,  for  the  good  rea- 
son that  there  was  no  railroad;  but  few  burglaries;  because  there 
was  but  little  money  or  jewelry  to  steal;  no  flying  machines,  liable 
to  light  on  the  roof  of  log  houses  at  any  moment;  no  earthquakee 
worth  speaking  of;  no  oil  or  gas  fires;  and  but  few  murders,  for  ths 
reason  that  there  were  but  few  Harry  Thaws  and  Hains  brothers 
in  the  country.  In  fact,  the  hard  working  shingle  maker  had  but 
little  to  worry  about  — barring  sickness  and  death,  which  came  to 
him,  as  to  all  mankind,  in  all  ages  of  the  world.  Of  course  there 
were  good  and  bad  shingle  makers.  The  good  ones  had  nothing 
on  their  minds  but  the  happiness  of  their  famiHes,  and  the  bad  ones 


1 10  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

had  not  as  many  chances  to  wander  from  the  straight  and  narrow 
path  as  can  be  found  nowadays.  There  was  but  little  bank  steal- 
ing, through  dishonest  officers,  because  there  were  few  banks  to 
"break/'  However,  the  bad  shingle  makers  had  one  sin  to  answer 
for,  and  the  sin  was  almost  hereditary.  In  riving  his  shingles  he 
would  split  the  shingles  so  close  to  the  knots  in  the  timber  that  it 
was  impossible  to  shave  them  so  that  they  would  be  of  any  value 
whatever.  It  required  five  times  as  much  labor  to  make  this 
crooked  shingle  fit  into  the  "bunch"  nicely  to  deceive  the  buyer 
as  it  required  to  shave  a  good  straight  shingle.  And  the  timbre 
in  many  cases  was  stolen,  costing  the  maker  nothing.  It  was  one 
of  the  puzzles  "past  finding  out"  why  this  extra  labor  should  be 
put  on  these  frauds,  which  only  amounted  to  some  tall  swearing 
by  profane  carpenters  down  the  Allegheny,  Ohio  and  Mississippi 
rivers.  It  would  try  the  heart  of  the  best  Christian  purchaser  of 
several  thousand  shingles  to  find  his  good  money  paid  to  the 
raftsman  that  had  landed  his  raft  by  his  river  farm  about  one 
fourth  dead  loss.  When  the  purchaser  opened  the  bunches  of 
of  shingles  his  usual  way  of  disposing  of  this  fraudulent  part  would 
be  to  make  a  bonfire  of  them.  The  worst  of  this  business  was  the 
fact  that  the  purchaser  always  found  himself  short  of  the  required 
amount  of  shingles  and  would  be  compelled  to  send  off  somewhere 
to  buy  again  before  he  could  put  his  roof  on  his  building.  I  never 
heard  of  one  of  the  defrauded  purchasers  putting  the  law  in  force 
against  those  rascals.  The  rafts  immediately  "pulled  out"  and 
floated  down  the  river,  perhaps  cheating  several  more  innocent 
buyers  before  the  first  purchaser  had  opened  a  bunch  of  shingles. 
The  purchaser  always  pocketed  his  loss  with  as  much  grace  as  pos- 
sible rather  than  undertake  to  find  the  man  who  defrauded  him. 
Pinkerton  was  not  around  in  those  days.  Now  all  the  pur- 
chaser would  have  to  do  would  be  to  give  warning  and  he  would  be 
a  cute  shingle  seller  that  could  escape  the  penalty  of  such  a  tran- 
saction. At  the  present  time  no  such  crimes  as  the  ones  just  de- 
scribed could  take  place,  as  no  shingles  are  shaved  by  hand  and  the 
tall  pines  are  few  and  far  between.  Shingles  are  now  made  by 
machinery,  as  nearly  everything  else  in  the  way  of  manufactured 
goods.  The  old  shingle  shanties  have  all  gone  the  way  of  the  old 
log  houses  and  indeed  the  occupants  of  both  are  nearly  all  gone. 
As  a  proof  of  this  I  will  say  that  I,  very  recently,  counted  the 
deaths  that  have  taken  place  on  four  miles  of  the  street  leading 
from  Youngsville  to  Sugar  Grove  within  50  years.  The  number 
surprised  me.  Although  not  a  village  intervenes,  only  farms 
all  along  that  road,  the  number  is  137.      "All  are  born  to  die." 


GOD  BLESS  THH  SWEDES  111 

One  family  on  this  road,  named  Duprey,  consisted  of  husband  and 
wife  and  14  children.  All  the  children  were  married, save  one,  50 
years  ago.  Now  all — father,  mother,  sons,  daughters,  sons-in-law, 
and  daughters-in-law — are  dead,  but  the  youngest  daughter. 

When  the  timber  was  gone  from  this  section  of  the  country  the 
people  first  thought  they  could  not  make  a  living  without  the 
tall  green  pines,  but  time  has  proved  that  the  clearing  and  culti- 
vating of  the  soil  is  much  more  to  be  depended  upon  than  the  pines. 
Considerable  of  the  wealth  of  Warren  county  now  consists  in  nice 
farms.  And  let  me  say  that  the  light  haired  Swedes  have  done  as 
much  to  bring  these  farms  to  perfection  as  the  native  Americans. 
Where  a  few  years  ago  wooded  hills,  valleys  and  swamps  abounded, 
beautiful  farms,  with  orchards,  painted  houses  and  barns,  fat  cattle 
and  horses,  and  everything  pertaining  to  a  well-equipped  farm,  are 
found.  God  bless  the  Swedes!  They  take  to  the  American  way 
of  doing  things  as  a  duck  takes  to  water.  Just  stop  to  think  a 
moment  what  these  people  from  the  bleak  country  of  the  Scandi- 
navians have  done  for  us  in  this  part  of  Uncle  Sam's  domain. 
They  have  built  up  whole  streets  in  Youngsville  and  most  of  the 
neat  farms  surrounding  the  town  are  owned  and  occupied  by  fam- 
ilies who  spell  the  last  syllable  of  their  name  with  the  three  letters, 
"son."  Then  look  at  Kane,  McKean  county,  Pa.  The  town 
would  be  in  the  woods  but  for  these  same  industrious  Johnsons. 
Swansons,  Samuelsons,  Thompsons  and  many  other  "sons."  The 
traveler  who  has  passed  from  Kane  to  Mt.  Jewett  has  noticed  the 
continual  string  of  new  farms  all  along  both  sides  of  the  B.  &  O. 
railroad  for  the  whole  distance  of  12  miles  from  Kane  to  Mt.  Jewett. 
When  I  passed  these  two  enterprising  towns  I  was  informed  by  an 
old  settler  that  every  farm,  except  one,  and  that  was  owned  by  a 
Frenchman,  was  owned  and  occupied  by  Swedes.  It  looks^as  if 
it  were  not  for  the  Swedes,  owls,  bears,  and  wildcats  might  now  be 
inhabiting  these  farmlands. 

Almost  the  same  can  be  said  of  the  land  along  the  B.  &  O.  road 
west  of  Kane.  Then  look  at  Jamestown,  N.  Y.  One  wing,  called 
Brooklyn,  I  think,  is  composed  entirely  of  Scandinavians,  and  it  is 
a  very  prosperous  part  of  the  city  at  the  outlet  of  Chautauqua 
Lake.  A  few  years  ago  I  attended  a  county  agricultural  fair  at 
Jamestown,  N.  Y.  The  first  thing  that  attracted  my  attention 
was  the  Fenton,  or  Prendergast,  Guards  marching  down  the  side 
hill  street.  When  I  spoke  of  the  melodious  music  and  fine  uniforms 
of  the  band  and  the  precise  step  of  the  military  company  to  an  old 
resident  he  informed  me  that  every  member  of  both  the  band  and 
the  military  company  was  a  Swede.     And  when  I  visited  the  fair 


1 12  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

grounds  and  saw  the  military  drill  and  listened  to  the  strains  from 
those  ''sons  of  a  cold  climate"  I  thought  that  surely  Jamestown 
would  have  had  a  dull  fair  if  not  for  her  adopted  ''sons"  from 
Sweden.  And  I  do  not  have  to  go  to  Jamestown  and  Kane  to  see 
the  beauties  of  this  foreii^n  population.  I  can  travel  a  mile  from 
the  borough  of  Youngsville  to  the  top  of  Hull's  Hill  and  cast  my 
eyes  westward,  southward,  eastward,  northward,  and  I  see  a 
panorama  of  fine,  well-kept  farms  stretched  out  before  me.  The 
question  arises,  "Who  cleared  up  this  rough  wooded  country  and 
made  it  blossom  as  the  rose?"  The  answer  echoes  back:  "The 
Swedes." 

But  I  have  wandered  away  from  my  old  shingle  makers  and  left 
them  sitting  on  a  bench,  pulling  the  draw  shave.  Before  they 
were  entirely  through  with  this  hard  work,  shingle  mills  came  by 
slow  degrees  and  circular  saws  and  steam  have  done  the  work  in 
fast  time.  One  set  of  four  men  will  now  make  25,000  shingles  in  a 
day,  whereas  1,000  were  a  days  work  for  one  man  by  hand.  No 
other  than  sawed  shingles  can  be  found  nowadays.  The  sound  of 
the  f row  and  maul  is  not  heard  in  the  land ;  neither  are  many  of  the 
weilders  of  the  maul  heard  in  the  land.  Their  homes  are  the  ceme- 
teries in  the  many  parts  of  the  lumber  region.  Their  farms  are 
now  generally  occupied  bj^  their  descendants,  who  perhaps  but 
seldom  think  of  the  hardships  their  fathers  and  mothers  endured. 
They  do  things  so  different  and  everything  is  so  different  that 
thoughts  of  the  absent  ones  are  seldom  brought  to  mind.  Some- 
times an  entirely  useless  old  spinning  wheel  or  some  other  old  relic 
is  seen  tucked  away  in  some  old,  dusty  garret  that  is  a  reminder  of 
times  long  since  gone  by.  But  the  sight  of  an  old  "little  wheel" 
for  spinning  flax  or  a  "big  wheel"  for  spinning  woolen  rolls  into 
yarn,  to  be  knit  into  stockings,  has  but  little  effect  on  a  person 
who  has  never  heard  the  buzzing  or  whizzing  of  them.  The  writer 
of  this  has  heard  this  kind  of  music  so  often  in  his  early  boyhood 
that  he  can  now — in  his  mind's  ear — hear  it  distinctly  as  his  mother 
sits,  turning  the  "distaff"  and  feeding  the  "little  wheel,"  and  his 
eldest  sister  is  making  lively  steps  pulling  out  the  woolen  rolls  and 
making  long  yarn  preparatory  to  being  sent  to  that  intelligent 
being  called  the  "weaver"  of  home  made  clothes  on  the  big  wheel. 
And  added  to  this  instrumental  music  would  be  the  vocal  music 
from  both  of  those  loved  relatives. 

And  when  it  comes  to  the  subject  of  derricks,  how  familiar  they 
become  to  one  who  has  lived  in  sight  of  them  ever  since  the  first 
derrick  was  built  to  be  used  in  producing  oil.  Ill  give  a  leaf  from 
my  own  experience.     About  15  years  ago  I  took  a  trip  into  Ohio, 


GOD  BLESS  THE  SWEDES  113 

organizing  fraternal  insurance  lodges.  I  was  gone  from  the  old 
Keystone  state  four  months  and  in  that  time  organized  15  lodges. 
When  I  had  worked  about  three  months,  without  seeing  a  derrick 
or  getting  a  smell  of  the  oleaginous  fluid,  I  landed  at  Prairie  depot, 
0.  When  I  got  off  the  train  I  saw  tall  derricks  all  around  me  and 
I  also  inhaled  the,  to  me,  delicious  smell  of  ''Seneca"  oil.  The 
odor  was  a  little  stronger  than  that  in  Pennsylvania,  but  not  too 
strong  for  me.  I  will  not  try  to  tell  the  real  joy  of  the  moment.  I 
had  been  deprived  of  the  sight  of  a  derrick  for  a  long  three  months, 
the  only  three  months  since  the  striking  of  the  first  oil  well  in  this 
country.  I  felt  really  at  home  among  he  ''yellow  hammers,"  all 
on  account  of  the  sight  of  those  derricks  and  the  smell  of  that  Ohio 
oil.  The  last  month  of  the  four  I  stuck  to  the  oil  country  and  felt 
very  much  like  being  in  Pennsylvania.  In  fact  I  was  among 
Pennsylvanians.  No  oil  town  is  complete  without  Pennsylvan- 
ians  living  in  it.  And  it  is  a  well  known  fact  that  all  oil  towns  iiave 
new  citizens  from  the  old  Keystone  state,  where  the  oil  business  was 
born,  and  the  author  feels  proud  of  the  fact  that  he  and  the  oil 
business  were  born  only  nine  miles  apart.  I  tarried  four  days  at 
Prairie  Depot,  organizing  a  lodge  of  40  members,  exactly  half 
"yellow  hammer;^"  and  half  "bluejays,"  the  latter  name  given  by 
the  Ohip  citizens  and  the  former  given  by  the  Pennsylvanians,  who 
had  taken  up  their  abode  among  the  Ohio  oil  wells. 

I  found  a  novelty  in  this  town.  A  native  born  citizen  in  the 
shape  of  a  young  man  of  20  years  took  it  into  his  head  that  he  was  a 
barber.  He  hired  a  room,  bought  a  chair  and  a  razor  or  two  and 
put  out  a  striped  pole  and  commenced  shaving  men;  no,  not  shav- 
ing, but  pulling  out  their  beard  by  the  roots.  His  method  was  to 
seat  the  customer  in  the  chair,  put  a  dirty  towel  around  his  neck, 
mix  up  some  lather,  dip  his  brush  into  it,  spread  it  on  the  face  of 
his  customer,  grab  his  razor  and  try  to  cut  off  the  growth.  He 
made  an  utter  failure  of  getting  all  the  beard  from  the  face  that  he 
made  no  attempt  to  soften.  He  didn't  give  one  second  to  the 

rubbing  of  the  lather.  I  stood  this  kind  of  torture  twice  while 
I  was  a  guest  of  that  town  of  rich  soil,  covered  with  big  oil  wells  and 
droves  of  black  hogs.  I  have  given  this  space  to  the  barber  free  of 
charge,  knowing  full  well  that  it  will  not  interest  the  general  reader. 
Commercial  men,  who  are  shaved  by  many  different  barbers,  will 
wonder  at  this,  as  no  doubt  nearly  all  have  endured  such  chairs. 
I  have  been  shaved  by  more  than  a  thousand  different  barbers 
and  I  never  found  this  young  man's  "double." 

I  must  not  close  without  giving  a  winding  up  word  to  the  reader. 
Those  old  pioneers  have  all  gone  on  to  a  land  where  the  golden 


1 14  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

gardens  are  already  cleared  and  awaiting  their  arrival.  Their 
descendants  are  enjoying  the  improvements  of  the  age.  The 
shingle  shaving  was  finished  before  their  fathers  left  this  earthly 
abode.  Now  a  trolley  runs  from  Youngsville  to  Sugar  Grove,  also 
three  'phone  lines  and  a  mail  delivery  route,  so  you  see  these  de- 
scendants have  no  need  of  losing  a  day  occasionally  going  to  town 
on  horseback,  in  a  buggy  or  afoot  for  little  errands.  The  old  set- 
tlers never  dreamed  of  these  conveniences.  These  time  savers 
make  wealthy  tillers  of  the  soil.  The  farmer  now  raises  blooded 
horses  and  cattle  and  sells  them  for  double  the  money  that  his 
father  could  get,  and  chickens,  eggs  and  crops  of  all  kinds  bring  a 
price  unbelievable  to  the  "old  man,"  who  split  and  shaved  the 
shingles.  The  prices  on  farmers'  goods  now  make  the  farmer 
smile  and  the  townsman  frown.  The  next  thing  that  happens 
will  be  the  opulent  farmer  riding  in  his  automobile,  and  some  of 
them  do  that  very  thing  now,  and  others  are  financially  able  to  do 
so.     So  the  world  moves  on  at  a  great  pace. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

YOUNGSVILLE  FOUNDERS  AND  BUSINESS  MEN. 

What  will  the  end  be? 

I  thought  I  had  ''Old  Times  in  Oildom"  finished  when  I  wrote 
the  last  chapter.  But  since  that  time  I  have  thought  of  many 
things  that  ought  to  be  said  of  Youngsville  that  would  show  the 
great  changes  that  have  taken  place  in  this  one  little  spot  since  I 
made  my  appearance  on  this  earth. 

About  65  years  ago  Amasa  Ransom  owned  and  occupied  a  farm 
one  mile  from  Youngsville.  He  also  owned  a  sawmill  at  Garland. 
Most  all  owners  of  sawmills  were  farmers  also  at  that  time.  They 
raised  the  hay  and  oats  on  their  farms  that  kept  their  teams  in  good 
order  while  hauling  the  logs  to  the  mills.  The  farm  and  mill  ran 
in  connection,  a  kind  of  "&  wheel  within  a  wheel."  When  a  farmer 
would  get  a  little  money  put  away  in  a  stocking — no  banks  then — 
he  would  build  a  sawmill.  It  did  not  cost  as  much  to  build  a  mill 
in  those  days  as  it  does  now.  The  farmer  and  his  boys  would  cut 
down  big  trees  and  make  a  dam,  hew  out  some  square  timber  and 
make  a  frame  building,  put  in  a  little  machinery,  consisting  of  a 
water  wheel,  wooden  frame  or  sash  for  one  saw,  set  in  an  upright 
position,  the  only  saw  of  any  kind  in  the  mill,  make  a  wooden 


YOUNGSVILLE  FOUNDERS  115 

carriage,  and  that  was  about  all  there  was  to  it.  The  owner  and 
his  farm  help  would  do  all  the  work  except  a  few  days  work  by  a 
millwright,  who  made  the  water  wheel  and  bossed  the  hanging  of 
the  saw  in  the  sash  and  looked  after  the  ''scientific"  part  of  the 
business.  A  good  millwright  stood  as  high  in  the  estimation  of  the 
community  in  general  as  Edison  or  Marconi  does  now.  He  was 
paid  the  magnificent  sum  of  from  $2  to  $3  a  day.  It  required  but 
a  few  hundred  dollars  to  put  a  saw  mill  in  running  shape.  But  it 
took  a  great  deal  of  hard  work  to  get  the  money  back  with  the  best 
of  pine  lumber  bringing  $4  per  thousand  feet,  or  about  one-eighth 
part  of  the  present  price  in  Pittsburg.  Perhaps  it  brought  half 
that  amount  at  the  mill. 

Our  family  lived  near  Garland.  Mr.  Ransom,  having  bought 
the  mill  and  lands  belonging  at  Tiona,  Warren  county,  Pa.,  after- 
wards known  as  the  ''Joe"  Hall  property,  and  still  later  owned  by 
Clapp,  Stone  &  Co.,  with  7,000  acres  of  oil  lands,  came  to  Garland 
and  persuaded  my  father  to  rent  his  farm  near  Youngsville,  as 
he  wanted  to  move  to  his  newly  acquired  property.  My  father 
did  not  need  much  coaxing  to  induce  him  to  leave  his  log  house  in 
the  woods  and  come  to  the  "big  city"  of  Youngsville,  with  one 
store  and  two  blacksmith  shops,  one  tavern  and  one  church  and 
two  little  wooden  schoolhouses,  one  on  each  side  of  the  creek,  and 
perhaps  some  other  "big  places  of  business"  that  have  escaped  my 
memory.  The  first  work  that  I  did  after  being  settled  on  our  new- 
ly rented  farm  was  to  yoke  up  the  oxen  "Buck  and  Bright,"  and 
join  a  procession  of  four  yoke  of  oxen  and  their  drivers  and  travel 
one  mile  and  a  half  up  Matthews  Run  to  the  farm  now  owned  and 
occupied  by  O.  P.  Brown,  and  hitch  to  one  of  the  largest  hickory 
trees  ever  seen  in  this  section.  In  a  few  hours  that  mammoth 
tree  was  lying  on  the  bank  of  the  Brokenstraw  creek,  in  the  village 
of  Youngsville.  In  a  day  or  two  the  best  Democratic  carpenters 
in  Youngsville  had  that  big  tree  peeled  and  shaped  into  one  of  the 
largest  "James  K.  Polk"  liberty  poles  in  western  Pennsylvania. 
And  in  a  few  days  more  a  great  gathering  of  Democrats  took  place 
and  with  rope  and  tackle,  "a  few  jugs  of  that  which  gave  them 
courage,"  and  spread  eagle  oratory  and  fuss  enough  to  launch  a 
war  vessel,  and  Colonel  William  S.  Roney  for  boss,  the  tallest  and 
straightest  Democratic  hickory  pole,  with  the  largest  flag  waving 
from  its  tiptop,  in  Warren  county,  honored  the  Democrats  of 
Youngsville.  My  father  was  always  an  ardent  Democrat.  He 
raised  three  sons  up  true  to  his  doctrine,  but  only  one  remains  true 
to  his  father's  teaching.  That  one  still  lives  on  the  old  homestead 
where  the  big  "Polk  and  Dallas"  hickory  pole  was  cut.     Two  of 


116  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

his  sons  have  for  many  years  voted  the  Prohibition  ticket. 

At  the  time  I  made  my  debut  into  Youngsville  society  by  driving 
our  oxen  on  the  occasion  mentioned  above,  12  yoimg  men,  the 
cream  of  the  town,  had  a  society  organized  named  ''The  Youngs- 
ville Glee  club."  They  had  a  wagon  box  with  this  name  on  the 
outside  in  large  letters.  About  once  a  month  they  would  hitch 
two  spans  of  horses  to  a  wagon  and  put  that  box  on  it,  each  taking 
his  best  girl  with  him,  making  25,  counting  the  driver,  and  go  to 
some  outlying  village,  take  supper — it  would  be  dinner  now — and 
have  a  good  time  in  general.  One  of  their  number,  in  the  course 
of  time,  went  west  "to  grow  up  with  the  country,"  and  left  a  vacan- 
cy. At  their  next  meeting  the  writer  of  this  was  duly  elected  a 
member  to  fill  the  vacancy,  the  ox-driver,  a  mile  out  in  the  country, 
the  only  out-of-town  boy  in  the  club.  I  felt  somewhat  lonely,  but 
happy.  To  think  that  of  the  many  out-of-town  boys  I  was  the 
chosen  one  was  enough  to  give  me  the  ''Big  Head."  But  I  put  on 
the  brakes  and  my  head  kept  its  normal  size.  And  not  to  be  ego- 
tistical, I  tried  not  to  dishonor  the  club  and  stuck  to  it  until  the 
old  wagon  box  rotted  away  and  is  now  only  a  memory. 

I  am  going  to  speak  of  a  few  of  the  old  settlers  that  made  Youngs- 
ville what  it  was  at  that  time.  The  first  that  comes  to  mind  are 
John  Mead  and  William  Siggins.  Judge  Siggins  lived  in  Youngs- 
ville and  owned  a  sawmill  and  a  gristmill,  had  a  wife  and  13  child- 
ren. The  Judge  was  a  very  tall  man — over  six  feet — and  his  wife 
was  a  very  short  woman.  Nine  of  the  Judge's  children  were  boys. 
There  were  no  mowing  machines  and  the  hay  was  all  cut  with 
scythes.  The  Judge  would  march  at  the  head  of  his  line  of  sons 
and  when  they  would  reach  the  meadow  the  10  would  start  in,  the 
Judge  leading,  and  how  that  timothy  did  come  down  at  their  bidd- 
ing. When  one  or  more  are  mowing  in  the  same  field  they  have 
to  "keep  stroke."  Watching  this  one  family  of  10  taking  the  even 
swing  together  was  a  sight  not  seen  every  day,  even  in  the  day  of 
no  mowing  machines.  And  then,  in  a  field  of  ordinary  length, 
when  they  came  out  at  the  end  of  the  field,  an  acre  of  new  mown 
hay  was  drying  in  the  sun.  The  old  Judge  was  a  character.  When 
he  took  hold  of  anything  he  generally  "got  there."  At  one  time 
he  served  as  constable  12  years.  Every  year  he  was  elected  with- 
out much  opposition  until  the  twelfth  year,  when  the  people 
thought  they  would  make  a  change  and  let  some  one  else  have  a 
chance.  But  they  elected  the  Judge  to  the  office  of  high  constable, 
an  office  which  at  that  time  carried  but  little  business  with  it.  A 
high  constable  could  only  do  a  little  borough  business.  The  Judge 
surprised  everybody  by  getting  a  special  law  passed  by  the  legis- 


YOUNGSVILLE  FOUNDERS  117 

lature  giving  the  high  constable  of  Youngsville  borough  a  legal 
right  to  do  any  kind  of  business  that  the  regular  constable  could 
do.  And  that  has  been  the  law  to  this  day.  The  Judge  made  an 
excellent  constable  under  the  old  law  and  the  business  was  nearly 
all  put  into  his  hands  under  the  new  law,  and  the  income  was  as 
great  as  it  was  under  the  old  law.  The  regular  constable  regarded 
it  as  a  good  joke  and  took  up  another  business.  At  88  years  of  an 
active,  well  spent  life  the  Judge  said  good  bye  to  all  earthly  things 
and  passed  away. 

And  now  comes  in  the  coincidence.  John  Mead's  family  was  a 
double  of  the  William  Siggins  family.  John  Mead  had  a 
sawmill  and  gristmill,  a  mile  up  Brokenstraw,  and  a  family  of  13 
children.  He  was  as  tall  as  Mr.  Siggins,  and  his  wife%as  as  short 
as  Mrs.  Siggins.  Seldom,  if  ever,  could  such  a  coincidence  be 
found.  The  nearest  to  this  case  that  has  come  under  my  observa- 
tion is  a  Mr.  Cross  and  a  Mr.  Morrison,  living  at  Parthenia,  six 
miles  below  Irvineton,  on  the  Allegheny  river.  They  were  next 
door  neighbors;  only  a  school  house  between  them,  and  each  had 
13  children. 

Another  of  the  pioneers  in  the  Brokenstraw  valley  was  H.  P. 
Kinnear.  He  was  born  and  reared  in  Youngsville,  and  as  he  grew 
into  manhood  he  became  a  leader  in  the  business  of  the  town.  Ev- 
erything pretaining  to  the  good  of  the  town  he  engineered  to  the 
best  of  his  ability.  To  tell  all  the  benefit  that  Henry  Kinnear  was 
to  this  town  would  take  more  time  than  I  have  to  spare.  But  I 
mention  a  few  of  the  things  that  he  did  to  help  make  Youngs- 
ville a  nice,  well-regulated  place  to  live  in.  It  was  by  his  move- 
ments that  the  little  village  became  a  borough  more  than  50  years 
ago.  There  was  no  other  borough  in  Warren  county  execpt  War- 
ren. Now  there  are  eight  boroughs.  He  succeeded  in  organizing 
Youngsville  lodge.  Ho.  500,  I.  O.  O.  F.,  about  60  years  ago,  and 
was  elected  as  representative  to  the  Grand  Lodge  every  year  while 
he  lived  after  the  organization,  40  years.  He,  as  burgess  and  coun- 
cilman, brought  about  many  improvements  that  will  stand  as 
monuments  to  his  love  for  Youngsville  for  all  time  to  come.  One 
of  the  principal  landmarks  is  the  Odd  Fellows  cemetery.  The 
cemetery  overlooks  the  borough  from  a  beautiful  eminence  about 
a  mile  away.  This  "Citj^  of  the  Dead"  was  the  pride  of  his  life  un- 
til life  ended  for  him  about  20  years  ago.  He  gave  of  his  time 
freely  in  bringing  about  borough  improvements  of  all  kinds,  one  of 
which  was  to  make  a  nearly  level  grade  on  all  streets  and  sidewalks. 
If  a  rise  of  ground  appeared  anywhere  on  the  main  streets  it  was 
plowed  and  scraped  and  carted  away  until  the  surface  was  smootb. 


1 18  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

and  even.  The  same  with  the  sidewalks.  If  a  bump  appeared  it 
was  soon  leveled,  and  if  a  shade  tree  was  an  iiich  or  two  inside  the 
six-foot  limit  it  had  to  be  shoved  out  to  the  proper  place  or  taken 
away  entirely.  In  getting  this  accomplished  Mr.  Kinnear  made 
many  enemies,  but  he  went  his  way  unmoved  b)^  the  grumbling 
of  the  tree  owners  and  now  when  he  and  a  majorit}^  of  the  grumb- 
lers have  gone  to  their  eternal  homes,  about  10  miles  of  shale  brick 
sidewalks  are  laid  on  a  level  foundation,  the  grading  being  done 
years  ago  under  the  supervision  of  this  same  H.  P.  Kinnear.  I 
was  not  one  of  the  grum]:)lers,  but  I  was  obliged  to  lower  the  ground 
at  one  end  of  my  sidewalk  and  cut  nearly  half  the  roots  off  of  some 
nice  hard  maple  shade  trees.  And  I  am  one  of  the  inhabitants  of 
the  town  who  have  been  permitted  by  the  Great  Ruler  of  the  Uni- 
verse to  live  to  see  the  time  that  I  can  walk  about  10  miles  on  the 
different  streets  on  level  brick  walks  and  not  stub  a  toe.  But  I 
am  not  done  with  Mr.  Kinnear  yet.  He,  at  different  times  in  his 
rather  eventful  life,  filled  town  offices,  being  sheriff,  member  of  the 
state  legislature  and  treasurer,  chairman  of  committee  on  Grand 
hotel  and  superintendent  of  the  grounds  of  Point  Chautauqua. 
In  fact,  he  held  all  of  these  offices  at  one  and  the  same  time.  And 
at  the  time  of  his  death  he  was  president  of  the  Youngsville  Sav- 
ings Bank.  Hon.  H.  P.  Kinnear  has  left  his  footprints  in  Youngs- 
ville for  all  time  to  come.  The  borough  has  the  appearance  of  a 
park  in  certain  places  because  of  his  work. 

Charles  Whitnej^  was  another  old-time  citizen  who  did  a  great 
deal  to  make  a  beautiful  place  of  Youngsville.  He  owned  nearly 
half  the  land  inside  the  borough  line,  nearly  all  west  of  the  Broken- 
straw  creek.  He  owned  a  sawmill  about  two  miles  up  the  creek 
and  was  both  a  farmer  and  a  lumberman.  His  big  farm  in  Youngs- 
ville was  covered  with  pine  stumps.  He  bought  a  stump  machine 
and  summer  after  summer  could  be  seen  from  break  of  day  until 
dark  working  with  his  men,  not  bossing  alone,  but  doing  as  much 
work  as  any  of  his  hired  men.  Mr.  Whitney  raised  four  children. 
All  are,  however,  dead  now.  His  oldest  son.  Captain  George 
Whitney,  did  his  full  share  toward  putting  down  the  Rebellion. 
He  got  up  one  company,  took  it  to  the  front  and  turned  it  into 
Colonel  Roy  Stone's  Bucktail  regiment,  then  came  back  and  raised 
another  company  and  took  it  to  the  front.  He  stayed  with  this 
company  until  the  war  closed. 

Another  citizen  of  this  place  is  R.  P.  Davis,  a  sweet  singer,  born 
and  reared  in  this  town.  He  has  been  singing  tenor  in  the  Meth- 
odist Episcopal  church  for  the  last  50  years.  He  has  missed  })ut 
few  Sundays  in  his  time    and  considering  special  occasions  would 


YOUNGSVTLLE  FOUNDERS  119 

more  than  average  twice.  But  calling  it  twice  each  Sunday,  it 
would  count  5,200  trips  and  about  the  same  number  of  miles 
traveled.  Counting  three  hymns  to  each  service,  this  shows  that 
he  has  sung  15,600  hymns.  He  has,  in  addition  to  that,  spent 
about  two  years'  time  in  the  50  years,  in  singing  at  funerals.  He 
has  done  all  this  free  of  charge.  In  the  above  mentioned  time  he 
has  worked  a  farm,  has  been  sexton  of  the  cemetery  16  years,  has 
been  either  burgess  or  councilman  14  years,  and  has  been  superin- 
tendent of  the  county  farm  here  three  years.  All  of  this  inside 
50  years.  Truly,  Reuben  has  been  on  the  move  within  the  last 
half  century. 

Alden  Marsh  was  one  of  Youngsville's  well-wishers  and  workers 
for  the  town's  advancement.  He  was  a  successful  lumberman  and 
retired  with  a  competency  in  middle  life.  He  filled  the  office  of 
county  commissioner  for  three  successive  terms  with  great  ability. 
He  was  a  leading  Odd  Fellow  and  the  I.  O.  O.  F.  band  turned  out 
and  played  solemn  dirges  at  his  funeral.  When  he  was  in  business 
and  had  plentj^  of  money,  and  I  was  a  young  chap,  just  commenc- 
ing business  without  money,  all  I  had  to  do  was  to  ask  Mr.  Marsh 
for  a  thousand  dollars  to  use  in  buying  and  running  lumber  to 
Pittsburg  and  selling  it,  and  it  would  be  forthcoming.  He  never 
refused  me,  and  this  borrowing  was  repeated  many  times.  When 
he  died  he  left  his  property  and  cash  in  bank  to  his  wife.  He  had 
no  children  and  when  his  wife  died  the  property  and  cash  all  went 
to  Mrs.  Marsh's  relatives  in  Minnesota.  No  provision  was  made 
for  keeping  his  lot  in  the  cemetery  lawn-mowed  and  in  proper 
order,  but  in  those  long  years  since  Mrs.  Marsh's  death  no  weeds  or 
briers  have  grown  on  the  Marsh  lot.  For  I  cannot  bear  to  see  a 
tangle  of  weeds  and  briers  growing  on  the  grave  of  such  a  good  old 
financial  friend  of  the  long  ago. 

John  McKinney  was  another  of  the  moulders  of  Youngs ville. 
He  was  one  of  the  first  born  after  the  old  Scotchman,  Matthew 
Young,  drove  stakes  and  marked  out  the  site  for  the  town  of 
Youngs  ville.  He  was  the  oldest  of  a  family  of  seven  boys  and  a 
girl.  He,  like  every  provident  young  man  of  nearly  a  century 
ago,  went  into  the  lumber  business,  and  accumulated  a  large  quan- 
tity of  land  on  the  waters  of  the  Brokenstraw  creek  and  its  branch- 
es. Part  of  it  cost  him  but  a  few  cents  per  acre,  which  he  bid  off 
at  tax  sales,  as  unseated  ''lands."  But  the  bulk  of  his  land  was 
bought  privately.  He  paid  the  full  value  for  it.  But  the  full 
value  was  not  a  large  amount  at  that  time,  when  men  were  working 
hard,  cutting,  piling  up  and  burning  nice  pine  timber  to  make 
room  for  very  scant  crops.     Land  that  was  groaning  under  the 


120  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

weight  of  the  very  finest  timber  that  ever  stood  out  of  doors  was 
sold  at  $1.50  per  acre.  I  have  bought,  at  that  rate,  of  the  Huide- 
kopers,  rather  than  just  take  it.  It  was  ''all  the  go"  to  cut  where 
one  could  find  it,  but  I  always  felt  a  little  safer  cutting  my  own 
timber  than  Huidekopers' .  However,  I  don't  feel  like  bragging 
because  of  my  honesty.  The  reader  can  just  call  it  cowardice,  and 
let  it  go  at  that. 

^  But  to  return  to  John  McKinney.  His  pine-covered  lands  kept 
rising,  and  then  how  they  did  rise  when  Drake  struck  oil  at  Titus- 
ville!  Mr.  McKinney  owned  100  acres  near  Hosmer  Run,  a  mile 
above  Garland.  When  they  drilled  with  a  spring  pole  he  got  a 
smell  of  oil  and  sold  it  for  $20,000.  This  hundred  acres  was  bid 
in  at  a  tax  sale  for  a  few  cents  an  acre.  Great  is  oil.  At  that 
time  Mr.  McKinney  could  walk  from  Youngsville  to  Irvineton — 
three  miles — on  his  own  land,  by  zigzagging  to  the  sidehill  at  a 
couple  of  places.  He  sold  several  hundred  acres  of  his  land  hold- 
ings at  oil  prices.  When  Mr.  Mckinney  was  transacting  this 
business  mentioned  above  his  two  nephews,  John  L.  and  ''Curt 
McKinney,  two  miles  from  Youngsville  were  helping  their  father 
James  McKinney,  run  a  little  sawmill,  propelled  by  an  old  fashion- 
ed wooden  water  wheel.  But  when  their  uncle  John  died  several 
weeks  later,  worth  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  million  dollars,  these  two 
boys  were  beginning  to  lay  the  foundation  for  their  fortunes  of 
millions  of  dollars. 

John  McKinney  was  a  man  who  loved  to  help  those  who  tried  to 
help  themselves.  A  case  in  proof  of  this:  When  I  was  emerging 
from  bo3^hood  to  manhood  I  borrowed  $150  of  him  to  pay  the 
Huidekopers  for  100  acres  of  pine  timberland.  Two  years  later  I 
called  with  money  and  interest  to  pay  back  the  borrowed  money. 
When  I  spoke  of  interest  his  answer  was  this:  "I  don't  charge 
interest  to  young  men  who  are  trying  to  do  something  for  them- 
selves." He  would  not  and  did  not  take  a  dollar  of  interest,  al- 
though I  expected  to  pay  it  and  came  prepared  for  it.  John  Mc- 
Kinney was  a  business  man  all  his  lifetime  of  about  80  years.  He 
never  bothered  himself  about  office,  with  the  exception  of  one  term 
of  three  years  as  sheriff  of  Warren  county,  which  the  voters  forced 
upon  him.  When  he  died  he  was  the  richest  man  on  the  Broken- 
straw  creek,  from  its  mouth  to  the  headwaters  in  the  state  of  New 
York.  His  oldest  son,  Arthur  McKinney,  now  lives  in  this  place 
and  has  done  much  to  test  the  territory  between  Youngsville  and 
Irvineton  for  oil  and  gas.  He  is  more  encouraged  at  the  present 
time  than  ever  before;  has  faith  that  we  have  a  paying  oil  field 
between  Youngsville  and  Irvineton.     The  big  flood  of  1892  swept 


NEW  TIMES  IN  OILDOM  121 

everything  before  it,  and  business  had  not  })een  resumed  until  re- 
cently. As  one  well  had  put  150  barrels  into  a  250  barrel  tank  be- 
fore the  flood,  and  oil,  tank  and  all  were  swept  down  the  Broken- 
straw  and  the  well  has  not  been  touched  since,  Mr.  McKinney 
has  faith  enough  to  clean  out  that  well  and  try  again. 

Phillip  Mead,  Esq.,  was  one  of  the  substantial  residents  for  50 
years.  He  held  the  office  of  Justice  of  the  Peace  for  25  years  with- 
out a  break.  He  was  one  of  the  leading  merchants  of  this  place 
for  40  years.  And  when  it  came  to  church  matters,  he  was  an 
authority.  No  service  was  complete  without  his  presence.  He 
was  always  to  be  found  at  the  Thursday  evening  prayer  meeting 
at  the  M.  E.  church,  as  well  as  all  Sunday  services.  He  leaves  a 
son,  ^ .  J.  Mead,  who  keeps  up  his  father's  reputation  for  business. 
He  runs  the  leading  hardware  store  of  the  town,  and  a  daughter, 
Callie  Mead,  now  holds  the  position  of  assistant  cashier  in  the 
First  National  Bank  of  Youngsville. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

NEW    TIMES    IN    OILDOM. 

In  a  recent  chapter  I  spoke  of  the  pioneers  who  have  made 
Youngsville  what  it  is.  Now  I  am  going  to  write  something  which 
will  sound  more  like  ^'New  Times  in  Oildom."  Here  goes: six- 
teen years  ago  Youngsville  was  like  a  majority  of  the  small  towns 
of  the  country,  nearly  at  a  standstill.  Although  the  location  was 
far  ahead  of  any  town  of  its  size  in  Warren  county,  being  situated 
in  a  beautiful  valley,  averaging  a  mile  wide,  ten  miles  long,  under- 
laid with  gravel,  where  an  iron  pipe  can  be  driven  down  30  or  40 
feet  in  a  few  hours,  and  the  very  best  of  pure,  cold,  soft  water  ob- 
tained, its  growth  was  slow.  It  lacked  manufactories.  There 
was  considerable  money,  owned  by  people  who  were  very  conser- 
vatiye.  They  preferred  to  keep  their  money  in  the  banks,  at 
small  interest,  to  risking  it  in  any  kind  of  speculative  business. 
Money  makes  a  poor  showing  in  that  way,  in  fact  no  showing  at  all. 
That  was  about  the  condition  of  affairs  at  Youngsville  when  W.  P. 
Nutting,  a  young  oil  opf^rator  who  had  formerly  lived  in  Youngs- 
ville, but  who  for  several  years  had  been  a  very  much  alive  Clar- 
endon oil  operator — came  to  his  former  home  town  and  started  a 
bank.  Then  ''Charley"  Kay  came  from  Stilson  Hill,  fwith  little 
money  but  with  lots  of  business  energy,  and  went  into  th^  steam 


122  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

sawmill  business.  From  that  business  he  entered  the  steam  grist- 
mill business,  with  John  Sheldon,  another  Stilson  Hill  man  as  a 
partner.  The  big  flood  of  1892  carried  the  mill  off,  leaving  nothing 
but  a  big  hole  in  the  ground.  The  engine  was  found  nearly  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  down  the  creek,  almost  hidden  by  gravel  and 
stones.  That  ended  the  mill  business  for  "Charlie,"  but  he  had 
an  appetite  for  business  that  could  not  be  quenched  by  the  loss  of 
one  mill,  and  a  few  weeks  after  the  flood  found  him  with  Peter 
Turner  and  Amil  Sagerdahl,  starting  up  a  furniture  factory  in  a 
building  reconstructed  from  a  private  house.  One  addition  after 
another  was  put  to  this  small  beginning,  until  a  large  and  rather 
commodious  furniture  factory  reared  its  proud  head  in  the  hereto- 
fore quiet  Youngsville.  Then,  when  ''everything  was  lovely," 
one  quiet  evening  the  fire  bell  rang,  and  Youngsville' s  pride  was 
soon  a  heap  of  smouldering  ruins.  And  Youngsville  lay  all  sum- 
mer ''in  sackcloth  and  ashes."  But  C.  H.  Kay,  superintendent, 
and  his  always  to  be  depended  upon  secretary  and  treasurer,  M. 
D.  Whitney,  were  not  covered  with  ashes.  They  were  planning 
the  building  of  a  new  factory  of  triple  the  capacity,  and  built  in  a 
much  more  convenient  place  than  the  old  one.  And  the  result  is 
a  $250,000  factory,  which  has  paid  for  itself,  and  is  now  bringing 
to  its  stockholders  enormous  dividends.  But  a  word  of  explan- 
ation is  necessary  in  this  connection.  Only  $15,000  of  stock  was 
sold  at  the  beginning.  It  now  pays  dividends  on  a  $250,000  plant. 
No  stock  is  for  sale  in  this  institution.  And  this  is  not  all.  Both 
Kay  and  Whitney  are  interested  in  nearly  all  the  improvements 
of  the  town.  This  large  factory  employing  150  men  is  not  all. 
Both  the  gentlemen  named  above  have  done  good  work  for  the 
town,  both  in  erecting  of  new  buildings  and  in  all  things  pertaining 
to  the  advancement  of  Youngsville.  Besides  the  individual 
efforts  of  these  two  gentlemen,  their  example  has  been  far-reaching. 
Two  years  ago  another  furniture  factory  was  built,  with  a  capacity 
for  200  workmen.  The  main  instigators  of  this  factory  were 
Amil  Sagerdahl  and  E.  Swanson — Sagerdahl  being  superintendent. 
Then  the  Gem  Mirror  Works  of  Jamestown,  N.  Y.,  came  and  put 
up  a  plant  as  the  result  of  the  influence  exerted  by  these  two  furni- 
ture factories.  This  shows  that  in  the  business  line  one  thing 
follows  another.  And  in  building  for  private  families  A.  F.  Swan- 
son  takes  the  lead.  This  man  is  an  enigma.  About  20  years  ago 
he  opened  a  little  grocery  store  with  about  $400.  To-day  he  owns 
a  half  dozen  stores,  dwelling  houses  sheltering  20  families,  owns  a 
hotel,  the  Youngsville  house,  owns  considerable  stock  in  both 
furniture  factories,  in  the  Gem  Mirror  Works,  in  the  First  National 


NEW  TIMES  IN  OILDOM  123 

Bank,  of  which  he  is  a  director,  also  the  Forest  Manufacturing 
company.  Pie  owns  an  opera  house,  owns  stock  in  the  Standard 
Shale  Brick  plant,  and  other  properties  ''too  numerous  to  mention." 
Mr.  Swanson  has  not  made  any  sensational  strikes  in  the  way  of 
speculation.  He  has  conducted  a  store  all  these  years,  and  has 
quietly  accumulated  somewhere  in  the  neighborhood  of  S  100,000. 
E.  C.  Swanson,  brother  of  A.  F.  Swanson,  has  also  done  his  full 
share  of  helping  Youngsville. 

C.  A.  Hazard  is  another  man  who  believes  in  making  homes  for 
new-comers.  For  several  years  he  erected  two  first-class  tene- 
ment houses  each  year.  A.  F.  Peterson  is  another  gentleman  who 
has  built  a  nice  row  of  brick  houses  along  west  main  street.  Mr. 
Peterson  is  the  president  of  the  Gem  Mirror  plant  and  is  one  of  the 
foremost  capitalists  of  our  town.  He  owns  stock  in  nearly  all 
the  industrial  plants  in  the  place.  E.  A.  McDowell,  superintend- 
ent and  secretary  of  the  Forest  Gas  company,  is  another  of  our 
foremost  business  upbuilders  of  the  town,  assisted  by  his  three  sons, 
one  of  whom.  Forest,  has  gone  west,  ''to  grow  up  with  the  country." 
Roy  is  one  of  Uncle  Sam's  "mail  route  agents,"  and  Fred  is  cashier 
of  the  First  National  bank  of  Youngsville.  Charles  Newgreen 
is  another  man  who  has  been  active  in  the  work  of  helping  to 
double  the  population  of  the  town  in  the  last  five  years. 

Hon.  J.  B.  White,  a  former  resident  of  Youngsville,  but  now  a 
resident  of  Kansas  City  in  the  winter,  and  Chautauqua  Lake  in 
the  summer,  has  done  his  share  in  the  educational  line.  Three 
years  ago  he  built  a  High  School  building  costing  $25,000  in  memory 
of  his  dead  son  Frank.  In  the  same  year  the  Currie  Memorial  In- 
dustrial school  building  was  erected.  J.  T.  Currie,  a  wealthy  resi- 
dent,died  about  19  years  ago,  leaving  money  on  interest  for  the  pur- 
pose of  putting  up  a  building  where  the  boys  can  learn  to  do  carpen- 
terwork,  iron  work — work  at  other  trades — thereby  educating  the 
hands  as  well  as  the  head ;  a  place  where  the  girls  can  also  learn  the 
art  of  cooking  and  sewing.  x\t  the  same  time  the  old  four  story 
wooden  school  building  was  veneered  with  No.  I  Standard  Shale 
brick  and  overhauled  generally.  Now  we  have  a  row  of  three 
brick  school  buildings,  fronting  on  College  street,  with  a  back 
ground  of  three  acres  for  a  playground  for  the  children.  I  have 
traveled  a  groat  deal  in  New  York  state,  Pennsylvania,  Ohio, 
West  Virginia  and  Canada,  and  I  have  never  seen  a  town  of  2,000 
inhabitants  have  as  many  nice  school  buildings  as  this  town  has. 
And  we  have  the  living  J.  B.  ^\hite  and  the  dead  J.  T.  Currie  to 
thank  for  two  of  the  finest  of  the  buildings.  Both  of  these  mag- 
nificient  gifts  were  turned  over  to  the  Youngsville  School  Board 


124  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

as  free  gifts. 

C.  S.  Mead,  the  leading  dry  goods  merchant  of  this  place,  has 
also  been  one  of  our  town  builders.  He  owns  the  old  H.  P.  Kin- 
near  farm,  which  is  situated  near  the  centre  of  the  borough,  and 
has  there  a  little  village  of  his  own. 

Among  the  newcomers  is  Robert  Slater,  a  man  who  has  made  a 
great  deal  of  money  along  the  Allegheny  river  at  the  lumber  busi- 
ness. He  is  a  good  citizen  to  have  lying  around  loose.  He  takes 
stock  in  all  manufactories  that  are  being  built. 

This  is  an  answer  to  the  question  often  asked,  "What  makes 
Youngsville  grow  so  fast?"  It  is  the  enterprising  moneyed  men. 
And  let  me  add  that  the  town  is  often  helpod  by  the  enterprising 
and  "moneyed  ladies."  Mrs.  Laura  Jackson  and  Mrs.  Frank  Kay 
built  two  of  the  finest  of  the  many  brick  houses  erected  last  year. 
Mrs.  McCormick,  Miss  Callie  Mead  and  other  ladies  own  nice 
brick  houses.  Oh,  yes,  the  ladies  are  doing  their  full  share  of  the 
work  of  making  Youngsville  what  it  is  to-day;  the  only  town  of 
its  size  that  I  know  of  which  has  laid  about  ten  miles  of  shale  brick 
side  walk  within  the  last  five  years,  and  doubled  its  population  in 
the  same  length  of  time,  except  of  course  towns  that  have  struck 
oil  or  gas,  or  opened  coal  mines. 

Another  who  must  not  be  left  out  among  the  helpers  in  Youngs- 
ville, is  H.  C.  Preston,  who  has  been  the  superintendent  of  the 
Rouse  hospital  farm  here  for  the  last  12  years. 

John  A.  Day.  a  man  who  was  bom  here,  about  50  years  ago,  is 
counted  among  one  of  the  most  enterprising  citizens  of  the  borough. 
He,  single  handed  and  alone,  promoted  the  Warren  County  Trac- 
tion Co.  He  brought  C.  H.  Smith,  G.  W.  Wood,  Mr.  Gibson,  Mr. 
Bailey  and  other  moneyed  men  of  Sheffield,  and  William  Culbert- 
son,  of  Girard,  the  wealthiest  man  in  Erie  county.  Pa.,  into  the 
company  which  made  it  a  success  from  the  start.  The  roadbed 
is  cut  and  filled  the  whole  nine  miles,  making  it  a  road  for  both 
passengers  and  frieght.  The  road  will  soon  be  extended  from 
Sugar  Grove  to  Chautauqua,  a  distance  of  about  16  miles,  and 
from  Youngsville  to  Warren,  a  distance  of  nine  miles.  Then  it 
will  be  one  of  the  best  paying  properties  of  the  kind  in  the  country. 
No  roads,  either  steam  or  electric,  parallel  it  from  Youngsville  to 
Chautauqua.  It  has  a  splendid  farming  country  all  to  itself.  Mr. 
Day  has  not  let  this  monopolize  his  mind  entirely.  Just  to  fill 
in  his  time  while  he  has  been  building  the  trolley  road  on  his 
own  hook  he  has  built  telephone  lines  nearly  all  over  Warren  coun- 
ty. And  his  only  son,  Archie,  "is  a  chip  of  the  old  block."  Archie 
has  stuck  up  his  poles  and  strung  his  wires  and  does  the  "hello" 


"DUNC'  EARNS  AND  "TOM"  KING  125 

business  for  the  wealthy  and  enterprising  town  of  Sheffield,  22 
miles  east  of  Youngsville. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

"DUNC"  KARNS  AND  "TOM"  KING. 

Noticing  the  announcement  of  the  death  of  S.  D.  Karns  brings, 
very  forcibly  to  my  mind  once  again  "Old  Times  in  Oildom"  in 
Parker  City.  I  owned  a  lumber  yard  in  that  noted  city  at  its 
inception.  "Dune,"  as  he  was  called  by  everybody,  lived  in  his 
oil  country  house,  next  door  to  my  lumber  office.  He  was  a  lively 
oil  operator  and  no  mistake.  All  he  had  to  do  was  to  drill  a  hole  in 
the  ground  and  get  a  big  gusher  of  five  or  ten  hundred  barrels  a  day. 
Oil  was  four  dollars  a  barrel,  and  his  income  was  simply  immense. 
Everything  he  took  hold  of  melted  into  great  piles  of  money.  He 
bought,  or  leased,  the  McClimens  farm,  one  mile  and  a  half  south 
of  Petrolia,  and  aside  from  the  gusher  oil  wells,  he  made  a  nice  little 
pile  in  lots,  on  which  to  build  "Karns  City."  The  writer  of  this 
bought  ground  for  an  opera  house,  a  restaurant  and  hotel  and  a 
city  office,  where  was  located  the  lumber  business  and  Western 
Union  telegraph  office,  and  land  on  which  the  lumber  yard  was 
situated.  All  these  pieces  of  land  were  situated  in  the  western 
part  of  the  town,  and  when  the  town  burned,  a  cross  street  was  all 
that  saved  my  property.  My  chief  loss  was  simply  some  orna- 
mental cut  glass  in  the  "telegraphic"  part  of  the  building,  worth 
but  a  couple  of  hundred  dollars.  This  would  have  been  saved  if 
the  wild^  noisy  crowd  of  men  had  obeyed  my  instructions  not  to 
carry  it  out,  but  to  let  it  take  its  chances,  as  there  was  but  a  cross 
street  between  my  building  and  the  fire,  and  as  the  fire  companies 
from  Parker  City,  Petrolia  and  Millerstown  each  had  a  stream  of 
water  on  the  fire,  I  felt  in  but  little  danger.  But  they  paid  not  the 
least  attention  to  me.  They  were  crazy,  and  they  rushed  past  me 
as  I  stood  in  the  front  door,  and  a  half  dozen  grabbed  the  frame 
work  and  carried  the  whole  business  out  and  into  the  middle  of  the 
street,  where  they  dumped  it  into  the  mud,  and  the  fire  companies 
soon  made  mince  meat  of  it.  After  that  fire,  Karns  City  was  part- 
ly rebuilt,  but  it  never  fully  recovered  from  the  damage.  But  it 
is  to-day  far  from  being  a  toad-stool  town.  It  is  a  pretty  little 
farming  village,  reinforced  by  many  old  time  wells,  and  it  will  be 
a  success  as  long  as  good  producing  farms  abound  in  that  region. 


126  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

But  back  to  "Dune''  Karns.  He  was  "it"  in  everything  per- 
taining to  the  business  of  Parker  City  and  vicinity.  Any  kind 
of  business  that  did  not  have  Karns  attached  to  one  or  the  other 
end  of  the  names  of  it  was  considered  "small  potatoes."  It  was 
Parker  and  Karns  City  .railroad,"  "Karns  bank,"  "Karns  bridge," 
Karns  City,"  "Karns  pipe  line,"  in  fact  he  was  the  main  spring. 
"Dune'' was  not  one  of  these  business  men  who  go  around  with  a 
troubled  look  on  his  face.  No,  Indeed!  He  scattered  sunshine 
every  day.  He  mixed  pleasure  with  business,  and  had  a  good 
time  generally.  He  was  a  young  man,  full  of  life  and  energy  when 
his  great  piles  of  money  fell  upon  him.  The  weight  of  his  money 
did  not  crush  him.  He  never  put  on  money  airs,  and  made  him- 
self disagreeable  to  the  average  man.  He  would  play  a  game  of 
billiards  with  a  respectable  oil  worker  with  as  much  enjoyment 
as  he  would  have  had  playing  with  the  owner  of  a  thousand-barrel 
well.  I  recollect  one  little  mark  of  prideo  n  his  part,  however.  He 
bought  a  billiard  cue,  finished  with  silver  trimmings.  The  billiard 
man  kept  Mr.  Karn's  cue  in  a  separate  receptacle  from  the  other 
sticks.  Although  this  looked  somewhat  "uppish,"  "Dune"  bought 
it  for  what  it  was,  a  finely  wrought  plaything. 

The  first  sign  of  opulence  on  "Dune's"  part  was  the  building  of 
a  fine  brick  mansion  a  few  miles  below  Freeport,  Pa.  He  graded 
a  lawn  all  around  it,  large  enough  for  a  common  sized  farm,  with 
a  nice  setting  of  evergreens  all  over  it.  This  place  was  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  Allegheny  river  from  his  boyhood  home — 
Karns  eddy.  But  the  old  saying  is,  "It's  a  long  lane  that  has  no 
turning."  The  lane  was  turned  with  "Dune,"  but  turned  the 
wrong  way.  He  was  not  the  first  to  dip  in  a  little  too  deep,  nor 
will  he  be  the  last.  The  oil  country  is  paved  with  men  who  have 
made  and  lost  money.  The  writer  speaks  from  experience,  he 
having  earned  a  small  fortune  in  two  years  and  lost  it  in  one. 
You  see  by  this  that  you  can  go  down  hill  twice  as  fast  as  you  can 
go  up.  At  a  certain  time  when  the  oil  business  was  at  its  height, 
there  were  30  lumber  yards  in  the  lower  oil  regions.  These  lumber 
yards  were  all  doing  a  good  business,  when,  lo  and  behold!  oil 
dropped  fron.  $3.00  a  barrel  to  50  cents  a  barrel.  Then  the  lumber 
men  got  it  "iu  the  neck."  Oil  operators  by  the  score,  who  had 
been  paying  Iheir  lumber  bills  everv  30  days,  went  into  bankruptcy 
One  little  bit  of  an  example  is  this;  One  operator,  who  had  been 
one  of  my  best  customers,  failed  for  $1,500,000.  Then  where  was 
my  i:900  lumber  bill?  This  kind  of  thing  was  not  uncommon. 
Out  of  this  number^  30  yards,  only  two  came  off  unscathed — 28 
having  found  the  oil  country  a  slippery  place  to  do  business  in. 


''DUNC"  KARNS  AND  'TOM"  KING  127 

Money  slipped  into  the  dealers  pocket  easily,  but  it  slipped  out 
again  much  more  easily  anci  ;]uickly  than  it  came.  You  may  ask 
28  lumber  yard  owners  if  tl  ey  do  not  agree  with  me.  One  of  the 
surviving  two  is  now  dead,  leaving  but  one  witness  in  favor  of  the 
beauties  of  the  lumber  business  in  the  ''lower  oil  regions," 

The  Parker  City  of  to-day  in  a  business  point  of  view,  is  not  a 
shadow  of  its  former  self.  I  feel  inclined  to  give  one  incident  of 
many  that  could  be  given  to  show  the  strenuous  way  the  Allegheny 
VaUey  railroad  had  of  doing  business.  The  railroad  being  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  river  from  Parker  City,  with  only  a  wire  cable 
to  guide  a  ferry  boat  across  the  stream,  made  it  anj^thing  but  easy 
to  do  business  in  the  iiew  and  hustling  town.  Everything  was 
''hurly-burly."  The  short  side  track  at  the  "Phillips  House" 
coul'l  not  hold  half  the  cars  sent  to  the  new  oil  town,  and  the  cars 
would  be  "switched"  off  at  Foxburg,  three  miles  above,  or  at  Bear 
Creek,  one  mile  below,  and  they  would  lie  there  until  a  small  open- 
ing on  the  switch  at  the  Phillips  House  could  make  room  for  one 
or  two  cars.  Then  the  cars  destined  for  Parker  City  would  be 
"switched  in."  One  day  the  freight  train  men  put  two  car  loads 
r>f  lumber  for  my  yard,  lumber  needed  at  once  for  oil  well  purposes, 
on  the  Bear  Creek  end  of  the  side  track.  No  room  was  made  for 
cars  for  nearly  a  w«^ek,  and  no  team  could  jiet  near  the  cars  to  un- 
load the  lumber.  As  "gondolas"  were  in  great  demand  about  that 
tim^e  the  railroad  could  not  well  spare  its  cars  a  week  at  a  time  lying 
idle  on  a  side  track.  Consequently  "Tom"  King,  assistant  sup- 
erintendent of  the  road,  came  up  from  Pittsburg  and  ordered  his 
track  workers  to  pitch  my  lumber  down  the  steep  bank  onto  the 
gravelly  beach.  There  it  was,  partly  in  the  water  and  partly  out 
of  the  water,  before  I  was  even  aware  of  the  "King's"  decree. 
Well,  my  customers  were  in  a  great  hurry  for  the  lumber  and  1  put 
my  own  team  and  a  couple  of  other  teams  at  work  hauling  that 
lumber  nearly  a  half  mile  up  that  river  beach  over  gravel,  and 
rocks  and  up  a  steep  bank.  A  team  could  haul  about  one  quarter 
of  a  load  at  a  trip,  and  it  was  fully  $100  damage  to  me  considering 
the  breakage  and  extra  teaming,  lost  time  and  everything.  I  had 
not  time  to  sue  the  railroad  company.  "Tom"  King  had  not  time 
to  lose  with  a  lawsuit,  and  the  most  important  of  all  the  reasons 
for  not  suing  the  railroad  was  that  T  had  a  free  pass  over  the  road 
from  year  to  year,  and  if  I  had  resented  "Tom's"  mean  action  it 
would  have,  in  all  probability,  had  a  bad  effect  on  that  pass.  And 
as  the  pass  covered  the  Allegheny  Valley  road  and  its  branches, 
and  I  was  over  the  road  very  often,  I  figured  that  it  would  not  take 
a  great  while  to  "deadhead"  $100  worth  of  transportation  in  my 


128  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

kind  of  business.  So  "Tom"  King  was  not  put  into  the  sheriff's 
hands  to  answer  for  his  unheard  of  way  of  doing  unheard  of  things. 
I  hear  that  "Tom"  King,  with  a  big  "K,"  is  still  railroading  in 
the  western  country  somewhere.  If  he  takes  such  liberties  with 
some  of  those  cowboys  as  he  did  with  me  he  would  have  to  "excuse 
himself"  at  the  point  of  one  of  their  playthings,  a  revolver.  But 
what  is  the  use  of  being  named  King  if  you  can't  be  a  King. 

It  was  uphill  and  downhill  business  those  days  to  run  a  lumber 
yard  in  the  new  Eldorado  even  when  the  hard-worked  yard  master 
could  get  a  car  on  that  little  short  side  track  at  the  Phillips  house 
where  wagons  could  reach  it.  It  was  no  picnic  to  get  the  lumber 
to  the  yard  on  the  other  side  of  the  river.  When  the  teamster  was 
lucky  enough  to  get  his  team  in  through  the  crowd  of  teams  it  re- 
quired two  men  to  load  the  wagon,  one  on  the  railroad  car  and 
another  on  the  wagon.  Then  the  brakes  had  to  be  put  on  good 
and  hard  to  get  down  the  steep  river  bank  and  onto  FuUerton  & 
McGlauhlen's  chain  ferry  boat.  Then  upon  reaching  the  Parker 
side  of  the  river  a  steep  bank  had  to  be  ascended  before  reaching 
the  yard.  It  cost  something  to  get  lumber  from,  that  little  crowd- 
ed side  track  to  the  yard,  the  wages  of  two  men  and  team  and  the 
tremendous  ferry  toll  of  Fullerton  &  McGlauhlen  on  small  loads. 
And  now  I  will  give  the  other  side  for  there  were  two  sides  to  the 
business:'  T  bought  a  raft  of  100,000  feet  of  boards  from  the 
Weston  mills,  three  miles  above  Olean,  N.  Y.,  on  Monday  morning, 
paying  $10  per  thousand  feet  for  it  in  the  water.  Saturday  even- 
mg  it  was  all  gone  at  $19  per  thousand  feet.  This  was  without  cost 
to  me.  The  oil  operators  would  drive  their  teams  into  the  water 
beside  the  raft  and  load  their  wagons  from  the  raft.  I  cleared 
$900  on  that  raft  in  one  week  without  touching  a  board.  Another 
$900  easy  transaction  took  place  a  short  time  after  the  last 
mentioned.  A  bridge  was  built  across  the  river  and  the  contractor 
gave  me  the  contract  of  furnishing  the  square  hard  maple  timber 
to  put  under  the  bottom  of  the  stone  piers.  I  gave  the  contract 
to  a  Springcreek  mill  owner  at  his  own  price  and  cleared  about  $900 
without  touching  a  piece  of  this  timber.  This  looks  like  making 
money  easily.  But  the  old  saying  isi  "Come  easy,  go  easy." 
As  stated  heretofore  in  these  chapters  there  is  no  troulole  about  the 
reader  seeing  where  the  "go  eas}"  came  in.  All  the  old  operators 
will  remember  the  method,  if  there  was  any  method  in  it,  of  doing 
business.  It  was  up  and  down  and  up  and  down  again  and  again 
and  all  branches  of  business  were  in  a  state  of  chaos  until  the  Stand- 
ard Oil  company,  through  marvelous  management,  gradually 
brought  things  in  the  oil  country  into  understandable  shape. 


WARREN'S  BIG  MEN  129 

CHAPTER  XXXVI 

WARREN'S   BIG   MEN. 

At  this  time  there  comes  to  my  mind  many  of  the  old  business 
men  of  Warren,  Pa.  There  were  among  the  members  of  the  bar 
Judge  S.  P.  Johnson,  Judge  Rasselas  Brown,  Judge  Glenni  W. 
Scofield,  Thomas  Struthers,  Judge  L.  D.  Wetmore,  WiUiam  Parm- 
lee,  J.  D.  James,  and  Jiidgre  W.  D.  Brown.  Of  those  named  all  are 
dead  but  the  last  named,  who  has  good  health  and  the  prospect  of 
enjoying  the  well  earned  fruits  of  his  former  efforts  for  many  years 
to  come.  Judge  Johnson  was  noted  for  his  stern  visage  and  plain 
talk.  During  his  long  and  successful  legal  term  he  never  spoke 
but  he  said  something  in  a  manner  to  be  plainly  understood.  Many 
were  offended  at  his  plain  speaking,  but  those  who  knew  him  best 
knew  well  that  underlying  his  stern  outward  appearance  was  a 
warm  and  tender  heart.  The  writer  had  business  relations  with 
him  and  was  never  more  kindly  treated.  The  last  interview  was 
just  before  the  opening  of  the  W^orld's  Fair  at  Chicago.  I  found 
him  in  the  consulting  room  of  Thomas  Struther's  law  office,  writing 
that  philanthropist's  last  will  and  testament.  It  was  a  somewhat 
sad  sight  to  meet  those  two  substantial  old  lawyers  trembling  on 
the  very  edge  of  eternity,  making  a  disposition  of  their  very  large 
inheritance.  The  Judge  dropped  the  will  writing  and  accompa- 
nied me  to  the  court  house.  On  the  way  he,  the  Judge,  informed 
me  that  he  had  been  at  Chicago  to  see  the  ''White  City."  He 
said  he  was  well  paid  for  his  trip.  Said  he:  ''I  am  84  years  of  age 
but  I  am  in  good  health  and  active  for  a  man  of  my  years.  I  can 
walk  nearly  as  nimble  as  ever."  He  then  proceeded  to  give  me 
an  example  of  his  nimbleness.  ''And,"  he  said,"  I  hope  to  live 
long  enough  to  make  the  second  visit  to  the  World's  Fair,  after 
those  buildings  are  filled  with  the  best  products  of  the  world." 
But,  alas,  for  the  uncertainty  of  all  things  mortal.  The  Judge 
was  seized  with  sickness  and  died  before  those  buildings  were  filled. 
These  old  lawyers  were  an  honor  to  Warren.  At  the  time  of  which 
I  write  Warren  and  Erie  counties  were  one  congressional  district. 
Warren  furnished  the  member  of  congress  for  both  counties  for 
many  years,  Erie  being  left  out  of  the  race.  The  large  county  and 
city  of  Erie  seemed  to  be  content  to  help  elect  Warren  county  men 
to  represent  them  on  the  floor  of  congress.  G.  W.  Scofield  was 
elected  and  re-elected  several  terms.  Then  Colonel  L.  F.  Watson 
followed  him  a  couple  of  terms,  and  when  Erie  did  put  forward  a 


130  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

man  and  elected  him,  Mr.  Scofield  was  chosen  congressman-at-large. 
The  congressman  elected  in  Erie  was  C.  B.  Curtis,  a  former  lawyer 
of  Warren.  Then  came  a  genuine  Erie  county  man,  Mr.  Brainard. 
All  those  named  above  were  Republicans,  but  then  a  Democrat — 
Erie's  pride — walked  over  the  4,000  Republican  majority  a  couple 
of  times,  and  represented  his,  the  ^'wildcat  district" — with  much 
credit  to  himself  and  to  his  constituents.  Colonel  Scott  was  as 
smart  as  he  was  rich.  He  was  an  honor  to  the  Democratic  party, 
but  the  old  saying  is  "the  good  die  young,"  and  years  ago  Erie's 
lamented  citizen,  W.  L.  Scott,  passed  away. 

But  let  us  return  to  W  arren.  All  the  old  set  of  lawyers  were  full 
of  legal  lore  and  an  honor  to  the  legal  profession.  One  of  the  recent 
deaths  of  the  Warren  judges  was  that  of  Hon.  L.  D.  Wetmore. 
His  10  years  on  the  bench  as  president  judge  was  a  pleasant  term 
for  both  himself  and  the  people.  He  did  not  seem  to  grow  old 
under  the  pressure  of  that  responsible  office,  but  rather  appeared 
happy,  but  he,  too,  had  to  obey  the  call  of  the  Great  Judge  of  the 
World. 

Another  of  the  president  judges  was  "Charlie"  Noyes,  as  he  was 
familiarly  called  by  his  innumerable  friends.  Although  a  Democrat, 
in  a  strong  Republican  county,  he  was  elected  to  the  high  office  of 
president  judge  by  a  good  majority.  Judge  Noyes  was  a  man  of 
many  parts.  He  was  connected  with  all  good  societies  and  every- 
thing tending  to  make  Warren  one  of  the  finest  and  best  towns  of 
its  size  in  the  country.  When  he  died  the  newspapers  were  filled 
with  eulogies.  He  was  indeed  missed.  He  was  a  young  man  at 
the  time  of  his  death,  but  was  old  in  the  knowledge  of  the  laws  of 
this  country. 

I  will  now  make  mention  of  the  younger  and  at  present  active 
lawyers  at  the  Warren  county  bar:  These  are  D.  I.  Ball,  D.  U. 
Aired,  Hon.  O.  C.  Allen  and  his  son,  Samuel — Bordwell,  W.  W. 
Wilber,  W.  M.  Lindsey,  who  has  just  completed  a  10-year  term  as 
president  judge  with  honor  to  himself  and  to  his  constituents,  and 
Charles  W.  Stone  and  son,  Ralph.  C.  W.  Stone  has  filled  about 
all  the  offices  worth  having  in  the  state  of  Pennsylvania.  From 
principal  of  the  Warren  schools  he  has  passed  through  the  state 
assembly,  state  senate,  lieutenant  governorship  and  three  or  four 
terms  of  congress.  Mr.  Stone  stood  second  best  of  the  hundreds 
of  congressmen  at  Washington.  AYhen  "Tom"  B.  Reid,  the  then 
speaker  of  the  house,  was  absent  for  a  week  at  a  time  he  chose  the 
Hon.  Charles  W.  Stone  to  take  his  place. 

But  let  me  now  tell  of  the  old,  old  lumbermen.  There  were 
Orris  Hall,  "Joo"  Hall,  Chapin  Hall,  and  Judge  Hall,  BoonlMead, 


WARREN^S  BIG  MEN  131 

Guy  Irvine,  A.  H.  Ludlow,  S.  H.  and  S.  V.  Davis,  James  Eddy, 
''Zack"  Eddy,  Judge  L.  D.  Wetmore,  Hon.  L.  F.  Watson,  Andrew 
Hertzel  and  a  host  of  others,  who  made  fortimes  in  the  lumber 
business,  when  nearly  the  whole  county  and  the  adjoining  county 
of  Forest  were  literally  green  with  as  fine  pine  trees  as  were  ever 
found  anywhere.  Many  of  the  old  settlers  of  Warren  made  their 
fortunes  by  ''bidding  off"  unseated  wild  land.  I'll  take  Colonel 
Watson  as  an  example.  He  came  to  Warren  from  Titusville  when 
a  mere  boy,  with  25  cents  in  his  pocket,  but  full  of  energy,  business 
and  integrity.  He  commenced  work  in  a  store  on  a  very  small 
salary,  but  he,  unlike  many  young  men,  saved  his  money.  When 
the  day  came  for  the  selling  of  unseated  lands — unseated  land 
means  that  many  owners  of  wild  land  thought  it  not  worth  while 
to  pay  their  taxes  in  the  wildernes-5  of  Forest  and  Warren  counties, 
and  let  the  assessors  place  them  on  the  unseated  list — young 
W^atson  was  possessed  of  a  keen  vision  and  he  could  look  into  the 
future  and  use  good  common  sense.  He  expected  and  knew  that 
this  country  would  grow  and  this  isolated  timber  would  come  into 
the  market  sometime  in  the  future.  Consequently  he  bought 
large  lots  of  this  wild  land.  It  cost  but  a  few  cents  an  acre  and  a 
small  amount  of  his  savings  would  buy  large  tracts  of  land. 

I'll  give  a  conversation  that  I  had  with  Mr.  Watson  a  few  years 
ago  in  the  directors'  room  of  the  Warren  Savings  bank.  I  was 
seated  in  an  easy  chair  when  Mr.  W^atson  entered  the  room. 
After  a  cordial  shake  of  my  hand,  and  a  warm  hand  was  always 
extended  to  his  friends  by  that  genial  gentleman,  he  said,  "I 
have  just  got  back  from  quite  an  extended  trip  over  in  Forest 
county.  Yesterday  I  saw  for  the  first  time  a  thousand  acre  lot 
that  I  bought  at  a  tax  sale  50  years  ago.  I  paid  a  few  cents  an 
acre  for  it.  It  is  completely  covered  with  pine  all  over,  except 
about  20  acres  in  one  corner,  and  that  20  acres  is  covered  with  the 
best  of  hemlock  timber.  I  had  heard  that  it  was  a  good  pine  lot, 
but  there  are  about  8,000,000  feet  more  pine  than  I  expected." 
I  made  this  remark:  "The  surplus,  or  the  timber  that  you  did 
not  know  that  you  owned,  is  worth  more  than  your  whole  bank 
here."     He  said  ''yes." 

Since  the  interview  above  mentioned  all  timber  has  raised  more 
than  one-half  in  price.  Mr.  Watson  became  several  times  a  mil- 
lionaire. This  certain  piece  was  one  of  many  pieces  of  his  early 
purchases  of  wild  lands  at  unseated  sales  on  the  court  house  steps. 
Many  other  old  settlers,  the  late  Hon.  L.  D.  Wetmore  among  the 
number,  became  immensely  wealthy  by  the  same  fair  methods. 
And  no  wonder  that  Warren  is  one  of  the  wealthiest  cities  of  its 


182  OLD  TmES  IN  OILDOM. 

size   to  be  found  anywhere. 

The  late  Hon.  Henry  Brace  helped  Mr.  Watson  with  some  of  his 
land  sales  and  afterwards  went  to  California  and  became  wealthy 
himself  in  timber  and  other  transactions.  He  was  buried  in  the 
Odd  Fellows  cemetery  at  Youngsville  only  a  short  time  ago.  Mr. 
Brace  was  at  Mr.  Watson's  side  when  he  (Watson)  dropped  dead 
in  Washington,  D.  C,  and  like  a  coincidence  death  came  to  Mr. 
Brace  at  his  California  home  instantaneously.  All  of  the  above 
named  old  time  lumbermen  have  sent  their  last  rafts  down  the 
Allegheny,  except  the  last  named,  Andrew  Hertzel,  and  it  is  to  be 
hoped  that  he  will  live  to  be  100  years  old  to  superintend  the 
beautiful  Odd  Fellow's  cemetery  at  Warren  as  he  has  managed  it 
for  the  last  40  years  without  one  dollar  of  cost  to  the  society.  Can 
Mr.  Hertzel' s  equal  in  this  respect  be  found  in  this  or  any  other 
country?  Nearly  every  day  finds  him  driving  "over  the  river" 
to  the  beautiful  city  of  the  dead,  where  he  keeps  his  ej^es  on  all  the 
workmen  and  gives  them  friendly  instructions.  There  is  only  one 
Andrew  Hertzel.  Two  other  gentlemen,  S.  V.  and  S.  H.  Davis, 
twin  brothers,  were  helpers  of  Mr.  Hertzel  in  his  laudable  work 
while  they  were  busy  citizens  of  Warren.  Their  twinship  has 
ended  here  on  this  earth  and  has  commenced  again  in  the  unknown 
country  beyond.  A  word  about  these  two  that  were  nearly  always 
seen  togethei  here  while  alive  on  this  earth  will  not  be  amiss: 
They  were  both  Democrats  living  in  a  county  with  1,500  Republi- 
can majority.  S.  V.  received  the  Democratic  nomination  for 
sheriff  of  Warren  county  and  was  elected  over  his  Republican 
opponent  by  a  majority  of  85.  When  S.  V.'s  time  expired  his 
twm  brother,  S.  H.  Davis,  repeated  the  performance  of  his  twin 
brother,  S.  V.  Davis,  the  only  difference  being  that  the  former  had 
a  trifle  more  of  a  majority  than  the  latter  named.  Those  three 
workers  for  the  cemetery  were  also  three  good  workers  in  the  I.  O. 
O.  F.  lodge  at  Warren  which  controls  the  cemetery.  The  two  last 
named  are  missed  in  the  councils  of  both  the  lodge  and  cemetery. 

Away  back,  60  years  ago,  Guy  Irvine  was  the  king  lumberman 
of  the  Allegheny  river.  He  owned  many  sawmills^  all  propelled 
by  water,  and  it  required  many  mills  those  days  of  smgle  sash,  up- 
right saws,  to  manufacture  his  do/.ens  of  "Allegheny  fleets."  On 
the  spring  freshet  Mr.  Irvine  would  float  to  Pittsburg  fleet  after 
fleet,  and  tie  them  up  to  both  shores  of  the  river  for  miles  above 
the  city.  He  would  pay  off  his  army  of  "hands,"  leaving  one  to 
each  raft  to  keep  it  afloat  as  the  water  would  recede.  After  each 
man  bad  received  his  nine  to  twelve  dollars,  about  the  amount 
paid  in  those  early  days  for  a  down  the  river  trip,  Mr.  Irvine  would 


WARREN^S  BIG  MEN  133 

take  them  to  the  Red  Lion  hotel,  on  the  Pittsburg  side  of  the  river, 
or  to  Old  Tom  Gardner's  hotel  on  the  Allegheny  side  of  the  river, 
and  treat  them  to  a  ^'cityfied  meal."  And  let  me  say  right  here 
that  no  landlord  ever  got  rich  from  those  men's  meals.  After  a 
week  on  the  raft,  subsisting  on  bread,  meat  and  potatoes,  prepared 
by  some  man  who  was  taking  his  first  lessons  in  cooking,  those 
hungry  up-the-river  men  got  away  with  all  the  apple  butter,  apple 
sauce,  stewed  peaches,  stewed  cherries,  etc.,  that  came  before 
them.  No  newfangled  side  dishes  were  used  in  those  early  day 
taverns.  The  victuals  were  heaped  up  on  single  plates,  and  each 
fellow  pitched  in  and  helped  himself.  If  the  '^tavern  keeper" 
got  full  pay  for  the  raw  material  of  one  of  those  meals — the  cooking 
thrown  in — he  came  off  lucky.  When  those  Pennsylvanians  and 
New  York  state  Yankees  had  more  than  satisfied  ^'the  inner  man," 
a  large  majority  of  them  indulged  in  something  stronger  than  river 
water,  and  then  would  commence  the  footsore  march  toward  their 
homes  up  the  Allegheny. 

Those  raftsmen  were  a  lively  set,  both  floating  southward  on 
an  easy  going  raft  or  trudging  northward  over  hard  stony  roads. 
The  denizens  of  the  scattered  farms  along  the  way  generally  let 
those  raftsmen  run  things  in  their  own  way.  And  let  it  be  said  to 
the  credit  of  those  pioneer  raftsmen,  whom  I  have  accompanied 
many  times,  that  their  wild  deeds  were  few  and  far  between. 

But  let  me  return  once  again  to  Guy  Irvine.  He,  with  all  his 
riches,  had  not  the  enjoyment  of  his  northern  home  only  a  small 
part  of  the  summer  months.  He  could  not,  as  now,  slip  up  home 
m  a  day  or  in  a  night  and  visit  his  family  and  back  again  in  the 
same  length  of  time,  but  he  had  to  stay  away  a  long  time  to  sell  and 
deliver  his  vast  amount  of  lumber.  And  when  he  did  get  away, 
sometimes  nearing  the  fall  of  the  year,  he  would  come  home  on 
horseback,  loaded  down  with  money.  And  he  was  bold  enough 
to  ride  along  through  farms  and  woodland  without  a  companion. 
One  of  the  great  wonders  is  that  no  highwayman  ever  ''inter- 
viewed" him. 

A  story  was  rife  at  one  time  that  one  robber  stationed  himself 
in  a  dense  piece  of  woods,  with  a  gun,  and  awaited  the  passing  of 
Mr.  Irvine.  But  in  vain,  a  Mr.  Irvine  had  happened  to  take 
another  route  and  thereby  spoiled  the  robber's  fun. 

Let  us  look  at  the  great  strides  in  the  manner  of  doing  business 
now,  compared  with  60  or  70  years  ago.  Instead  of  running  the 
risk  of  being  robbed,  if  Mr.  Irvine  was  selling  lumber  now  at  Pitts- 
burg, he  would  only  have  to  drop  his  pile  of  money  into  a  Pittsburg 
bank,  take  a  certificate  of  deposit  and  drop  it  into  a  Warren  bank 


134  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

when  he  got  home,  ask  for  a  blank  check  book,  and  draw  his  money 
at  his  pleasure.  And  instead  of  that  tiresome  ride  on  horseback, 
he  could  step  into  a  Pullman  car  and  sleep  until  he  reached  his 
home. 

I  would  like  to  speak  of  more  of  the  old  time  business  men  of 
Warren,  but  to  do  the  beautiful  island  town  full  justice  I  would 
have  to  write  a  whole  book.  I  can,  with  my  mind's  eye,  look  back 
and  see  Judges  Galbraith,  Vincent,  Johnson,  Brown,  Noyes,  Lind- 
sey  and  Wetmore.  The  reader,  who  was  acquainted  with  those 
legal  lights,  will  see  that  five  out  of  the  seven  have  presided  at  their 
last  suit.  Judge  Vincent  having  only  recently  passed  away 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

WEST   VIRGINIA    EXPERIENCES. 

I  think  a  few  words  about  West  Virginia  will  be  interesting.  The 
writer  of  this  spent  the  largest  part  of  two  years  in  the  *' Mountain 
State,"  organizing  insurance  lodges.  It  was  easy  work  to  get  a 
list  of  names  of  men  and  women  and  organize'  a  lodge,  but  when  it 
came  to  paying  dues  and  assessments,  in  some  of  the  20  towns 
where  I  organized  they  were  "not  in  it.''  I  organized  five  lodges 
in  Wheeling,  the  largest  city  in  West  Virginia.  The  members  were 
always  on  hand  at  the  meetings  of  the  order,  but  when  it  came  to 
paying  their  assessments  and  keeping  their  protection  safe,  they 
were  not  as  good  as  the  Pennsylvania  people.  In  the  way  of  en- 
tertainments they  were  the  best  in  the  world.  I  made  an  appoint- 
ment with  10  lodges  for  a  visit  from  the  Supreme  President  of  the  or- 
der.I  notified  each  lodge  of  the  time  of  his  appearance.  The  meet- 
ings were  for  all  members  of  the  order  and  non-members.  Well,  those 
10  meetings  were  10  big  picnics.  They  had  entertainments  galore. 
We  had  brass  bands,  mandolin  clubs,  quartets,  duets,  solos,  reci- 
tations, oratory  and  everything  that  would  add  to  the  entertain- 
ment of  a  crowd.  At  Wheeling  the  entertainment  was  far  in  ad- 
vance of  anything  ever  witnessed  before,  or  since,  by  such  a  "jiner" 
as  I,  and  I  belong  to  nine  different  secret  societies.  I'll  not  try  to 
describe  this  entertainment,  but  I', 11  give  a  few  pointers  that  will 
give  the  readers  a  chance  to  guess  at  the  magnificence  of  the  per- 
formance. The  Grand  opera  house  was  the  place  of  the  meetmg. 
The  orchestra  belonging  to  the  building  made  splendid  music.  The 


WEST  VIRGINIA  EXPERIENCES  135 

best  performers  of  the  city  gave  their  best  efforts  on  all  parts  of  the 
varied  program.  The  members  of  the  order  were  all  dressed  up 
to  their  special  parts  in  the  program  at  great  cost  to  themselves. 
In  fact,  this  could  hardly  be  called  an  amateur  performance.  The 
performers — many  of  them  —were  professionals.  This  is  one  of 
the  "unguessable"  things.  To  think  of  men  and  women  attending 
so  faithfully  to  the  frivolous  parts  at  great  cost  and  neglecting  the 
important  parts  at  light  cost. 

Let  me  make  a  little  correction.  I  said  I  had  organized  five 
lodges  at  Wheeling.  One  was  at  Benwood  and  another  at  McMech- 
en,  but  all  were  on  the  trolley  lines.  Of  the  20  lodges  organized  in 
West  Virginia,  they  were  nearly  all  in  oil  towns.  Many,  in  fact 
a  majority  of  my  members,  were  Pennsylvania  oil  men  and  women. 
The  inhabitants  of  West  Virginia  are  largely  made  up  of  Pennsyl- 
vania and  Ohio  people.  The  Pennsylvania  people  are  a  little  more 
appreciated  than  the  Ohio  people.  Senator  Stephen  B.  Elkins 
informed  me,  in  the  town  named  after  him,  that  the  Pennsylvania 
people  took  much  more  kindly  to  West  Virginia  than  the  Ohio 
people.  The  former  are  accustomed  to  a  mountainous  country 
and  the  latter  to  a  level  country.  The  Senator  says  it  makes  more 
difference  than  one  would  suppose  at  first  thought. 

There  is  but  one  difference  between  the  two  states  of  Pennsyl- 
vania and  West  Virginia.  The  sidehills  are  very  much  more 
precipitous  in  West  Virginia  than  in  Pennsylvania.  When  I  first 
saw  Wheeling  it  was  a  black  little  village,  not  much  thought  of  by 
the  raftsmen  who  rode  lazily  past  it  from  the  Pennsylvania  and 
York  state  lumber  woods.  Black  coal  smoke  rose  in  several 
places  as  a  nest  egg  to  Wheeling's  future  greatness  in  the  iron 
business  of  the  country.  Parkersburg  was  the  next  largest  town 
on  the  Virginia  side  of  the  Ohio  river — it  was  old  Virginia  at  that 
time,  as  no  division  had  been  made.  Parkersburg  was  a  little 
huddle  of  old  fashioned  houses.  Just  make  the  comparison  now, 
and  then.  Now  it  is  a  city  of  nearly  20,000  inhabitants.  All  the 
recent  buildings  are  up-to-date — built  in  the  latest  fashion.  Oil 
has  been  largely  instrumental  in  making  Parkersburg  what  it  is 
to-day.  Many  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  city  came  ther.e  full-flegd- 
ed  oil  operators,  as  they  generally  came  from  the  Pennsylvania  oil 
fields  up  the  river.  I  spent  four  months  within  the  confines  of  the 
old-time  city  and  found  a  very  social  and  intelligent  lot  of  citizens. 
I,  for  the  first  time  since  railroads  were  built,  did  not  ride  one  rod 
in  a  railroad  coach  in  four  months.  I  organized  a  lodge  of  over 
200  members  before  I  left  the  town,  and,  unlike  Wheeling,  all  the 
insured  members  paid  their  assessments  promptly  eacll  month.. 


136  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

It  was  the  best  lodge  of  the  475  that  I  have  organized  within  the 
last  32  years. 

I  stopped  at  the  Palace  hotel  that  winter,  and  one  peculiarity 
of  the  situation  was  that  nearly  all  the  young  couples  who  came 
across  the  river  from  the  state  of  Ohio  to  be  joined  in  wedlock  put 
up  at  the  Palace  hotel.  The  proprietor  of  this  hotel  had  a  preach- 
er within  easy  call  always  when  one  of  these  matrimonially  inclined 
couples  were  ready  to  put  on  the  yoke,  and  he  had  a  standing  wit- 
ness in  the  person  of  your  humble  servant.  I  became  regular  in 
my  attendance  at  weddings.  The  name  of  that  landlord  and  my 
own  decorated  the  marriage  certificates  of  dozens  of  new  beginners 
as  sailors  on  the  matrimonial  sea. 

I  found  myself  in  a  rather  noted  crowd  at  dinner  one  day. 
There  were  seven  Hatfields  and  one  Brown  at  the  table.  The 
McCoys  stopped  at  another  hotel.  The  relationship  did  not  seem 
exactly  cordial  between  the  two  families,  although  they  were  both 
making  a  visit  to  Parkersburg  at  the  same  time.  A  word  of  ex- 
planation is  due  here.  A  great  land  suit  was  on  in  the  United 
States  court,  then  being  held  at  Parkersburg,  and  the  Hatfields 
and  McCoys  were  there  as  witnesses.  But  they  demonstrated 
their  good  sense  by  not  mixing  up  the  names  of  the  two  families 
on  the  same  hotel  register.  Well,  I  had  the  honor  of  dining  at  a 
table  full  of  Hatfields,  with  "Devil  Anse"  as  one  of  the  number. 
As  they  had  been  stopping  at  the  "Palace"  and  boarding  quietly 
with  people  that  were  not  murderers,  for  nearly  a  week,  we  all  got 
used  to  them  and  it  was  no  great  feat  to  be  one  of  eight  who  was 
not  a  Hatfield,  at  the  same  table  at  the  same  time.  In  fact,  I 
became  somewhat  intimate  with  the  family.  I  was  assured  that 
if  I  behaved  myself  I  would  be  in  no  danger  of  bodily  harm.  I'll 
give  a  little  conversation  that  one  of  the  crowd  and  I  indulged  in 
one  evening  while  we  sat  quietly  in  the  hotel  office.  I  said, 
"People  up  your  way  say  that  you  fellows  are  not  a  very  bad  lot 
in  general.'*  He  replied,  "Oh,  we  are  not  the  worst  men  in  the 
world,  but  a  little  fiery."  I  told  him  that  I  "would  write  them 
up"  ;for  the  Parkersburg  Journal  and  that  I  would  hand  him  a 
a  copy  of  the  paper."  He  said,  "all  right,  I  would  like  to  have  it." 
The  next  day  I  went  to  the  railroad  depot  and  just  as  the  train 
moved  off  toward  the  mountain  home  of  the  Hatfields  I  handed 
him  a  copy  of  the  Journal.  I  will  explain  why  I  held  the  paper 
until  the  departure  of  the  train.  I  thought  that  if  he  should  take 
offense  at  any  part  of  my  remarks  I  would  rather  he  would  take 
offense  riding  on  a  train  speeding  away  from  Parkesrburg  than  be- 
fore he  left  the  city.     Now ,  to  show  plainly  how  we  can  be  deceived 


WEST  VIRGINIA  EXPERIENCES  137 

in  appearances,  one  of  those  Hatfields  had  every  appearance  of 
being  a  perfect  gentleman,  both  in  dress  and  actions.  I  said  to 
myself  there  is  no  danger  of  that  man  ever  murdering  anyone. 
But  in  less  than  two  years  from  that  time  I  read  an  account  in  the 
papers  of  a  man  being  murdered  by  this  same  quiet  looking  Hat- 
field. But  time  mellows  all  things.  I  have  since  read  of  the  two 
noted  families  intermarrying  and  thereby  modifying  the  feud  be- 
tween the  world  renowned  Hatfields  and  McCoys. 

I  never  in  my  32  years  of  organizing  lodges  met  but  two  editors 
of  newspapers  who  refused  to  publish  the  list  of  officers  of  my  newly 
organized  lodges.  The  first  was  a  Pennsylvania  editor,  a  U.  P. 
preacher,  by  the  way.  Secret  societies  were  not  to  his  liking. 
The  other  was  a  McCoy,  of  West  Virginia.  He  was  a  lawyer, 
editor,  owner  of  a  big  oil  farm  and  a  trustee  of  the  Presbyterian 
church.  It  was  not  because  of  his  religious  scruples  that  he  refused 
the  publication  of  the  list  of  officers,  but  he  felt  that  it  was  '^paid 
matter.^'  He  did  not  seem  to  know  that  editors  in  general  are 
very  much  pleased  to  have  items  of  local  news  of  that  character. 
Often  the  managers  of  daily  papers  in  large  cities  have  sent  their 
news  gatherers  to  the  ante  room  of  the  lodge  rooms  with  orders  to 
stay  until  the  list  of  officers  could  be  obtained.  I  have  had  them 
wait  two  hours  before  the  installation  was  finished. 

The  first  locomotive  that  I  saw  running  along  a  track  was  in  the 
state  of  Ohio.  I  was  on  a  lumber  raft,  lazily  floating  down  the 
Ohio  river,  when  we  met  an  engine,  with  no  coaches  attached, 
coming  up  the  river,  on  the  Ohio  side.  It  was  a  sight  for  our  up- 
the- Allegheny  river  eyes,  and  I  also  actually  had  my  first  ride  on 
steam  propelled  cars  on  the  same  side  of  that  same  river.  After 
landing  our  Ohio  fleet  at  Cincinnati,  and  staying  as  watchman  on 
the  raft  until  my  employer,  the  late  Eben  G.  Mead,  than  whom  no 
better  man  ran  lumber  to  the  lower  markets,  sold  and  delivered 
his  raft,  I  got  into  a  coach  and  took  my  first  railroad  ride  to  Cleve- 
land, O.,  then  on  a  lake  boat  to  Dunkirk,  N.  Y.,  then  in  a  stage 
coach  to  Jamestown,  N.  Y.,  and  '^footed  it"  across  the  line  into 
the  Keystone  state,  18  miles,  to  my  home  in  Youngsville,  Pa. 
Was  not  that  going  around  the  bush  some,  if  not  more? 

I  have  mentioned  the  down-the-river  people  learning  how  to 
land  a  raft  with  a  long  rope.  Let  me  just  mention  the  beauties  of 
this  long  rope  business  on  the  rafting  trip  just  described.  After 
we  landed  this  big  Ohio  raft,  I  took  up  my  abode  in  the  raft  shanty 
until  the  raft  was  sold.  One  nice  warm  day  during  the  first  half 
of  the  month  of  May,  I  laid  my  sleepy  head  on  the  str^w  pillow 
in  the  raft  shanty  and  was  soon  in  the  land  of  dreams,.    The  river 


138  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

was  very  high,  over  its  banks  in  many  places.  My  dreams  came 
to  an  end  very  suddenly  when  four  Clarion  timber  rafts,  owned 
by  Mr.  Ford,  of  Ridgway,  Pa.,  broke  their  cables  and  came  down 
against  my  raft  with  a  crash  that  broke  my  cables  and  sent  me 
down  towards  Cincinnati.  I  was  "monarch  of  all  I  surveyed," 
sailing  d^wn  into  the  heart  of  the  city  on  a  very  large  ''Ohio  fleet," 
with  no  one  to  boss  me  and  thousands  of  feet  of  square  timber 
floating  after  me.  Now  comes  in  this  long  rope  business.  When 
the  raft  had  made  about  two  miles  toward  Porkopolis,  I  saw 
two  men  jump  into  a  skiff  and  row  towards  me.  I  first  thought 
that  they  intended  to  take  me  to  shore.  But  I  soon  found  that 
they  had  a  better  object  in  view.  They  rowed  vigorously  until 
they  reached  the  side  of  my  runaway  raft.  They  then  asked  me 
for  the  privilege  of  landing  the  raft.  The  reader  may  guess  that 
the  privilege  was  instantly  granted.  They  then,  with  my 
help,  lifted  a  coil  of  rope,  900  feet  long,  one  and  one  half  inches  in 
diameter,  and  carried  it  onto  the  raft.  Next  one  of  the  men  took 
hold  of  one  end  of  the  rope  and  got  into  the  skiff  and  the  other 
rowed  him  to  shore,  and  while  the  man  with  the  rope  took  a  half- 
hitch  around  a  big  plum  tree,  the  other  man  rowed  back  to  the 
raft  and  took  a  hitch  on  the  raft  snubbing  post,  and  played  out 
the  900  feet  of  rope,  bringing  the  big  raft  to  shore,  safe  and  sound. 
I  felt  like  the  passengers  who  offered  prayers  and  thanked  Marconi 
when  the  big  vessel  went  down  recently,  when  the  wireless  tele- 
graphy saved  1,650  lives.  These  two  men  will  always  have  my 
best  wishes.  Their  act,  the  next  day,  when  Mr.  Mead  called  to 
pay  them  for  the  job,  proved  them  to  be  fair  minded  indeed.  Their 
charge  was  only  $10.  Mr.  Mead  expected  to  pay  about  $100,  as 
their  work  saved  him  over  $1,000.  If  not  for  getting  that  raft 
landed  above  Cincinnati,  where  it  was  sold,  it  would  have  gone 
below  the  city,  and  would  have  been  sold  for  a  much  less  price  than 
it  was  already  sold  for  at  Cincinnati.  Mr.  Ford's  timber  went  on 
below  the  city  and  he  afterwards  informed  me  that  he  lost  $6,000 
by  the  breaking  of  his  ropes.  His  rafts  were  towed  ashore  by 
tugboats  after  they  had  passed  the  city,  where  they  were  sold. 

This  rafting  was  a  peculiar  business.  One  instance  is  worth 
mentioning  on  this  trip.  On  the  Ohio  river  we  ran  night  and  day. 
Not  so  on  the  Allegheny  river.  There  were  too  many  islands  and 
bars  and  crooks.  It  required  daylight  to  navigate  it  safely.  Some- 
times when  the  water  was  falling  or  when  a  pilot  failed  to  make 
a  landing  in  a  safe  eddy  he  was  obliged  to  run  all  night  and  it  was 
remarkable  the  small  number  of  mishaps  that  did  take  place. 
When  we  take  into  consideration  the  large  number  of  rafts  that 


WEST  VIRGINIA  EXPERIENCES  139 

passed  Oil  City  every  rise  of  the  water  it  fills  one  with  wonder  that 
so  few  rafts  were  wrecked.  Why,  the  old  inhabitants  of  Oil  City 
can  recollect  the  time  that  they  could  stand  on  the  bank  of  the 
river  all  day  and  never  be  out  of  sight  of  rafts  either  opposite  or  up 
or  down  the  stream. 

The  description  in  the  Derrick  recently  of  the  lights  of  Oil  City 
at  night  reminded  me  of  the  Pan-American  show  at  Buffalo  a  few 
years  ago.  And  it  also  reminded  me  of  Oil  City  many  years  ago. 
Then,  instead  of  the  glorious  blaze  of  light  of  the  present, 
about  all  that  could  be  seen  in  the  way  of  illumination  was  a  tin 
lantern,  with  holes  cut  in  the  sides,  and  a  "tallow  dip"  standing 
in  the  bottom.  There  was  but  little  difference  between  those'old 
fashioned  lanterns  and  a  common  sized  lightning  bug.  Why, 
did  you  ever  think  that  we  are  2,000  years  behind  the  times?  The 
Bible  tells  us  that  in  A.  D.  70,  Antioch  had  street  lamps,  water 
running  in  the  streets  and  into  the  houses.  Once  or  twice  Oil  City 
has  had  water  running  in  the  streets  and  into  the  houses,  too,  and 
Antioch  was  not  "in  it"  in  regard  to  fire,  but  Oil  City  was  "in  it" 
to  a  sorrowful  degree.  Many  of  the  older  citizens  and  some 
younger  ones  will  agree  with  me  in  this.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that 
the  fire  fiend  will  never  again  make  such  disastrous  visits  as  it  has 
done  when  that  beautiful  city  was  first  springing  into  its  wonder- 
ful growth. 

The  Derrick  recently  spoke  of  John  Haliday  being  a  pioneer  in 
the  ferry  business  in  Oil  City.  My  next  door  neighbor  is  John 
Haliday's  son,  Thomas,  and  he  is  a  "chip  of  the  old  block,"  inter- 
ested at  present  in  the  oil  business  between  Oil  City  and  Pleasant- 
ville. 

Speaking  of  Pleasant ville,  Reminds  me  of  a  little  lumber  trans- 
saction  when  things  were  running  wild.  Very  late  in  the  fall  of 
that  exciting  year,  when  Plummer  was  the  terminus  of  the  only 
railroad  in  sight  of  Oil  City,  I  landed  a  raft  of  hemlock  derrick 
lumber  at  Oleopolis,  or  at  the  mouth  of  Pithole  creek.  I  sold  the 
raft  to  a  New  York  City  man  who  was  operating  quite  extensively 
in  the  rather  prolific  Plummer  oil  territory.  This  man  gave  me 
$15  per  thousand  feet  for  this  lumber.  He  drew  a  part  of  it  for 
his  own  use  and  sold  part  of  it  to  other  parties  for  $60  per  thousand 
feet,  and  nearly  half  of  it  floated  off  down  the  river  in  the  great 
flood  of  1865.  I  was  the  only  man  who  did  not  lose  on  that  raft, 
and  taking  out  the  cost  of  one  day's  run,  I  made  one-third  on  my 
investment.  I  mention  this  to  show  the  uncertainties  of  the  lum- 
ber business,  as  well  as  the  oil  business.  And  while  talking  of 
lumber,  let  me  make  the  remark  that  something  like  dreariness 


140  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

comes  over  me  when  my  mind  wanders  back  to  rafting  times, 
when  water  floated  the  lumber  to  market  instead  of  steam  pulling 
it  on  wheels.  The  beautiful  green  pines  have  been  cut  down  and 
are  gone,  and  nearly  all  the  sturdy  axe-men  who  cut  the  trees  have 
been  overtaken  by  Old  Time  and  cut  down  as  ruthlessly  as  were 
the  thrifty  green  trees.  The  places  that  knew  them  both  will 
know  them  no  more  forever.  But  in  time  the  places  of  trees  will 
be  filled  with  a  new  growth  of  flourishing  trees  and  the  work  of 
these  pioneers — good  men  and  true — will  live  long  after  them. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII, 

RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE  LAST  FIFTY  YEARS 
IN  THE  OIL  AND  LUMBER  COUNTRY. 
•Published  in  the  Oil  and  Gas  Man's  Magazine  in  1909. 

I  have  been  requested  by  my  friend,  C.  R.  Wattson,  of  Butler. 
Pa.,  Secy.-Treas.  of  the  Oil  Men^s  Association  of  Western  Pennsyl- 
vaina,  to  write  an  article  for  this  issue  of  the  "Oil  and  Gas  Man's 
Magazine."  I  take  up^  the  task  willingly  but  hardly  know  where 
to  begin.  A  flood  of  incidents  lies  calmly  on  the  surface  of  the 
sea  of  50  years'  memory.  To  cull  the  best  out  of  the  lot  is  some- 
thing of  a  task — but  I  have  no  misgivings  about  the  interest  the 
readers  will  take  in  it,  if  well  culled.  To  show  the  extent  of  the 
field  of  knowledge  I  will  say:  I  saw  the  old  Drake  well,  or  first 
well,  putting  out  its  second  day's  production.  Strangers  and 
residents  of  the  then  little  village  of  Titusville  were  standing  around 
so  thick  that  to  get  near  the  great  American  wonder  required  both 
strength  and  skill. 

Every  onlooker  was  surprised  to  see  pure  grease,  covered  with 
white  heavy  froth,  pouring  so  abundantly  from  sixty  nine  feet 
below  the  surface  of  mother  earth.  People  from  all  around  the 
country  farms  and  towns  were  equally  astonished  at  nature's 
new  departure.  Visitors  were  present  from  all  the  great  cities  of 
the  nation.  New  York,  Chicago,  Philadelphia  and  Boston  were 
well  represented.  They  all  were  of  the  same  opinion  relative  as 
to  how  so  much  oil  was  to  be  utilized.  Up  to  that  time  the  little 
that  had  been  gathered  along  Oil  Creek  by  soaking  it  into  blankets 
had  been  sold  in  the  crude  state  as  a  panacea  for  all  the  ills  that 


RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS  141 

poor  human  nature  is  heir  to.  The  query,  therefore,  with  every- 
body was,  what  will  be  done  with  this  heavy  production  of  oil.  No 
one  thought  of  using  it  as  an  illuminant.  The  question  was  left 
to  be  answered  by  John  D.  Rockefeller  and  his  coterie  of  intelligent 
and  energetic  helpers.  Just  stop  and  think  a  moment,  dear  read- 
er. The  man  that  was  at  the  head  of  the  greatest  of  the  world's 
discoveries,  namely,  petroleum  and  its  by-products,  is  one  of  the 
best  abused  men  in  this  country.  Little  did  Mr.  Rockefeller  think 
when  he  was  racking  his  young  brain  for  the  everlasting  benefit 
of  the  oil  business  that  he  was  bringing  down  on  his  devoted  head 
more  abuse  than  any  other  man  ever  carried  in  these  United  States. 
I  mean  misplaced  abuse.  It  was  ever  thus  for  greatness  and  suc- 
sess  to  receive  its  reward  by  the  historical  pen  of  future  writers 
after  the  Tarbells  and  the  like  have  passed  into  oblivion,  and  there 
is  no  doubt  Mr.  Rockefeller  will  get  justice  in  the  pages  of  history 
yet  to  be  written. 

But  let  me  leave  this  Drake  well  in  its  present  loneliness  (it  has 
nothing  to  mark  the  spot  at  present,  but  thanks  to  the  good  and 
enterprising  ladies  of  the  oil  country,  this  will  soon  be  remedied) 
and  take  a  look  at  the  Williams  well  on  the  John  Watson  farm, 
a  mile  north  of  the  Drake  well, — here  was  the  pioneer  spouter. 
It  was  my  good  fortune  to  see  this  well  two  days  after  it  was  drilled 
in.  The  oil  went  skyward  to  a  great  height  and  the  first  flowing 
well  was  doing  business  with  great  energy.  This  well  was  planned 
and  put  down  by  Mr.  D.  M.  Williams,  the  then  leading  dry  goods 
merchant  of  Warren,  Pa. 

Although  Mr.  Williams  was  the  moving  spirit  in  putting  down 
the  first  flowing  oil  well  of  the  thousands  that  followed,  for  some 
reason  he  vanished  from  the  oil  business  and  died  with  "nary"  a 
well.  This  Williams  well,  although  the  wonder  of  the  world,  as 
regards  gas,  did  not  cause  the  commotion  that  the  Drake  well 
did — for  the  reason  that  the  Drake  well  uncovered  the  fact  that 
large  deposits  of  heretofore  unthought-of  wealth  underlaid  this 
country.  The  Williams  well  only  demonstrated  the  fact  that  said 
wealth  could  be  boosted  out  of  mother  earth  by  a  hitherto  unseen 
power,  called  natural  gas.  By  direction  of  Divine  Providence, 
Titusville  had  the  first  pumping  oil  well  and  also  the  first  flowing 
oil  well.  The  inhabitants  of  the  "Queen  City''  are  justly  proud 
of  this.  ^  California,  Illinois,  Oklahoma,  Kansas,  Texas,  Mexico 
and  Indian  Territory  must  take  a  back  seat  at  the  discovery 
business,  as  many  slow  moving  years  passed  after  Titusville  point- 
ed the  way  before  these  now  prolific  states  knew  that  they  werQ 
in  it. 


142  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

Shortly  after  the  Williams  well  began  to  spout  oil  I  did  my 
first  and  only  work  on  an  oil  well.  It  was  helping  John  Duncan, 
of  East  Titusville,  ''kick"  at  a  well  on  Pine  creek.  We  used  a 
spring  pole,  and  did  not  make  a  very  long  hole  in  a  day's  "kicking." 
I  left  John  at  the  end  of  six  weeks,  satisfied  to  abandon  the  drilling 
business  with  a  spring-pole.  Medical  authorities  say  the  exercise 
of  the  lower  limbs  is  healthful,  I  did  not  quit  because  I  disagreed 
with  said  medical  authorities,  but  I  thought  I  would  rather  take 
their  word  for  it  than  to  prove  it  by  prolonging  my  "kicking" 
job.  Duncan  filled  my  place  with  another  "kicker"  and  soon 
got  a  fair  producer.  But  even  then  it  would  have  been  hard  to 
convince  the  average  settler  on  Pine  creek,  at  that  time,  that  the 
oil  belt  ran  up  the  creek  as  far  as  Grand  Valley  and  beyond.  It 
was  left  for  the  years  to  prove  that  Pine  Creek  was  oil  territory 
from  the  Drake  well  to  the  Summit  on  the  D.  A.  V.  &  P.  railroad. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  drill  is  the  only  way  to  test  the  location  of 
petroleum.  " 

Among  the  many  old-time  lumbermen  of  this  county  was 
John  McKinney,  uncle  to  John  L.  and  J.  C.  McKinney,  two  of 
Titusville's  wealthy  and  leading  citizens.  His  father,  also  named 
John,  was  one  of  the  first  settlers  of  the  Brokenstraw  valley. 
John  McKinney,  Sr.,  had  a  family  of  seven  sons  and  one  daughter. 
The  old  gentleman  had  a  good  farm  for  each,  but  his  son  John  out- 
did all  his  brothers  in  adding  to  his  fortune  He  was  a  fixture  each 
early  spring  in  the  Pittsburg  lumber  market.  Mills  were  strung 
along  the  Brokenstraw  creek,  every  place  that  high  banks  were 
found,  and  many  places  where  the  banks  were  not  high  enough, 
artificial  banks  were  thrown  up  to  make  a  head  race  and  tail  race, 
as  they  were  called.  The  mills  beginning  at  the  mouth  of  the  creek 
were  owned  by  Dr.  William  A.  Irvine,  William  Freese,  Judge 
William  Siggins,  John  Mead,  John  Garner,  James  McKinney, 
father  of  the  Titusville  men  mentioned  above,  A.  H.  Ludlow  &  Co., 
Eben  Mead,  Wm.  White,  John  McKinney,  (the  first  mentioned), 
Robert  Andrews,  William  Cotter,  Daniel  Horn,  Dr.  W.  A.  Irvine, 
Daniel  Donaldson,  William  Demming,  E.  Hyde,  Ogden  Demming, 
John  Walton,  and  here  the  creek  crosses  the  state  line  and  I  don't 
know  the  Yankees'  names  that  owned  the  mills  on  the  creek  over 
on  the  "York  State"  side.  Those  water  mills  would  run  nearly 
the  year  around  and  in  the  early  spring  when  the  melted  snow 
raised  the  creek  to  a  rafting  stage,  the  Brokenstraw  creek  would 
get  a  move  on  it.  All  day  long  the  board  rafts  were  pulling  out 
from  the  many  mills  and  crowding  each  oher  around  the  crooked 
bends  of  the  creek.     Many  times  they  would  crush  together  and 


RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS  143 

pile  up,  completely  blocking  the  navigation  until  the  swift  moving 
water  would  force  a  passage  through.  The  men  that  pulled  the 
oars  and  piloted  the  rafts  were  skilled  in  that  work.  A  large  ma- 
jority of  them  were  born  and  reared  about  those  sawmills  and  were 
real  water  ducks.  They  were  right  in  their  element,  when  manip- 
ulating those  raft  oars.  The  writer  prided  himself  on  his  skill  as 
a  creek  pilot  and  always  got  his  raft  through  to  the  down  river 
markets  without  mishap.  For  years  upon  years,  he  enjoyed 
himself  hugely  floating  rafts  out  of  Brokenstraw  creek,  and  after 
the  creek  pieces  were  coupled  together  into  the  Allegheny  fleets 
bossing  the  men  at  the  oars  from  Irvineton  to  Cincinnati  and  still 
further  down  the  Ohio.  This  rafting  business  was  only  a  part  of 
the  floating  done  on  the  Allegheny  river.  The  iron  business  came 
in  for  a  share  of  the  trade  of  this  county  at  that  time.  Iron  furna- 
oes  were  numerous  and  that  man  that  was  noti  nterested  in  pig 
iron  in  some  manner  was  considered  a  back  number.  Making 
pig  iron  along  the  Allegheny  river  and  running  it  to  Pittsburg  in 
flat  boats  was  generally  considered  among  the  money  making 
pursuits  of  life.  A  man  that  had  not  a  pig  metal  furnace  of  a  few 
tons  capacity  was  looked  upon  as  a  man  of  not  much  consequence 
from  a  business  standpoint.  Those  old  pioneers,  while  pecking 
away  at  this  laborious  business,  had  never  an  idea  that  they  were 
working  above  a  sea  of  oil  that  would  lay  in  the  shade  their  iron 
ore,  and  not  outstrip  their  business,  but  bury  it  in  everlasting 
forgetfulness.  When  a  man  gets  after  oil  and  gas  it  is  good  bye  to 
pig-iron.  And  let  me  here  remark  ''where  in  this  world  will  be 
found  a  more  favored  set  of  men  than  the  Western  Pennsylvania 
farmers?"  In  some  single  counties  is  found  iron,  coal,  oil,  gas, 
limestone,  salt,  rich  soil,  good  timber,  in  fact  nearly  everything 
that  mankind  needs  in  this  vain  world  of  ours.  A  farmer  doesn't 
need  to  go  away  from  home  to  provide  for  his  family,  everything 
is  right  on  his  farm.  Where — oh,  where  can  its  equal  be  found? 
— echo  answers,  where?  No  need  of  a  young  man  taking  Horace 
Greeley's  oft  quoted  advice  ''to  go  west  and  grow  up  with  the 
country."  Many  a  young  man  has  grown  up  with  this  oil  country 
since  good  old  Mr.  Greeley  gave  his  advice  and  has  nothing  to 
regret  at  staying  at  home,  and  the  end  is  not  yet.  Human  nature, 
however,  is  never  satisfied.  Many  young  men  have  gone  west 
since  the  advent  of  the  Drake  well,  and  some  of  them  have  come 
back  to  this  country  that  flows  with  milk  and  honey  and  some 
have  grown  up  with  the  western  country  in  poverty;  of  course, 
some  have  struck  it  rich,  as  they  would  probably  have  done  in 
any  other  country.     I  said  a  farmer  had  everything  on  his  farm. 


144  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

I'll  take  it  back— I  have  not  discovered  or  heard  of  gold,  silver 
or  diamonds  being  found  on  western  Pennsylvania  farms,  but* 
would  not  be  surprised  to  see  or  hear  of  their  discovery  before  I 
die.  Perhaps  some,  if  not  all,  of  these  metals  will,  ere  many  years, 
bob  up  in  the  face  of  these  aforesaid  farmers  while  peacefully 
harvesting  their  buckwheat  crops.  The  reader  may  think  me 
too  optimistic,  but  listen,  more  strange  things  have  happened  to 
the  honest  farmer  in  the  striking  of  oil  and  gas  than  the  discovery 
of  the  last  three  wealth  producers  mentioned  above. 

As  a  stimulus  to  young  men  just  starting  out  in  life  "on  their 
own  hook"  I  wish  to  hold  up  an  example  in  the  person  of  Hon. 
J.  B.  White,  a  former  resident  of  Youngsville,  but  now  of  Kansas 
City,  Mo.,  and  Bemus  Point,  N.  Y.,  the  latter  being  his  summer 
home. 

Mr.  WTiite  was  born  and  reared  in  Watts  Flats,  Chautauqua 
county,  N.  Y.  When  but  eighteen  years  of  age  he  came  to  Hulls 
Hill,  two  miles  from  Youngsville  and  taught  school  in  that  district 
one  term.  He  then  bought  a  pine  timber  farm  and  took  up  his 
residence  in  Youngsville,  which  turned  out  in  years  afterward 
to  have  been  a  good  move  for  the  town.  He  commenced  lumber- 
ing from  his  pine  tract  and  the  business  had  a  peculiar  charm  for 
him.  After  he  had  cut  the  timber  from  his  Hull  Hill  farm  he  trans- 
ferred his  lumber  business  to  Tidioute.  With  the  advent  of  Park- 
ers Landing  as  the  centre  of  oil  operations,  Mr.  White  began 
business  at  that  point.  He  prospered  so  well  that  the  eagle  eyes 
of  the  millionaire  Grandins  alighted  on  him  and  prevailed  upon  him 
to  go  to  Missouri  and  buy  yellow  pine  timber,  by  the  tens  of  thous- 
ands of  acres.  The  Grandins  and  the  late  lamented  Hunters,  and 
Capt.  H.  H.  Cummings  paid  White  a  liberal  salary  and  gave  him 
a  sixth  interest  in  the  business  for  his  services.  White  was  as  full 
of  energy  as  an  egg  is  full  of  meat  and  he  proved  to  be  the  very 
man  to  carry  the  deal  to  a  successful  issue.  After  making  piles 
of  money  for  the  company  and  finding  himself  owner  of  fourteen 
lumber  yards  in  as  many  states  and  owner  of  vast  amounts  of 
long  leaf  yellow  pine  in  Louisiana  and  other  southern  states,  and 
a  fine  Chautauqua  Lake  property  with  unlimited  means,  Mr. 
White  did  not  lie  down  "on  flowery  beds  of  ease"  while  doing  this 
work,  but  while  attending  to  the  superabundance  of  work  in  build- 
ing and  putting  in  order  a  very  large  lumber  town  (Grandin,  Mo.) , 
he  traveled  over  all  the  southern  states  adding  to  the  holdings 
of  the  company  in  the  way  of  the  best  long  leaf  yellow  pine  found 
anywhere  in  the  south.  The  lucky  part  of  this  whole  business  is 
that  this  immensely  valuable  timber  was  bought  before  the  won- 


RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS  145 

derful  upward  jump  in  the  price  of  lumber.  Another  most  favor- 
able point  is  that  at  the  rate  the  lumber  of  this  country  is  being 
cut  there  will  be  no  decrease  in  price  no  matter  what  the  tariff 
tinkers  do  in  the  matter  of  rates. 

The  benefit  resulting  from  the  young  school  master  from  Hulls 
Hill  selecting  Youngsville  as  his  home  at  the  close  of  the  first  school 
will  now  appear.  After  Mr.  White  became  a  citizen  of  Kansas 
city  his  oldest  son,  John  Franklin  White,  M.  D.,  received  his 
diploma  and  became  a  prominent  physician.  He  accidentally 
shot  himself,  dying  within  three  weeks.  Before  his  death  his 
father  promised  that  he  would  build  a  memorial  high  school  build- 
ing to  his  memory  in  Youngsville.  This  promise  was  made  good 
last  year,  the  school  board  receiving  from  Mr.  White's  hands  a 
$25,000  building.  The  building  has  all  the  latest  conveniences 
that  go  to  make  up  a  first  class  building  of  this  character.  It 
stands  between  another  memorial  building,  erected  by  the  estate 
of  the  late  J.  T.  Currie,  and  the  old  four  story  high  school  building. 
The  Currie  building  is  an  industrial  school.  It  is  supplied  with 
all  kinds  of  tools,  suitable  for  learning  the  different  trades  to  boys 
and  girls. 

Mr.  White  is  a  strong  believer  in  educating  the  fingers  as  well 
as  the  mind,  and  years  ago  induced  Mr.  Currie  to  leave  money  at 
his  death  to  perpetuate  his  memory  in  this  manner.  Mr.  White 
is,  therefore,  credited  with  two  of  Youngsville' s  fine  educational 
buildings.  Mr.  White  says,  ''as  I  have  a  father,  mother,  two  sons 
and  wife  buried  in  the  beautiful  I.  O.  O.  F.  cemetery  in  Youngs- 
ville, it  is  only  natural  when  I  quit  active  business  I  will  move  to 
Youngsville  and  spend  my  declining  years  there."  Mr.  White 
has  a  warm  side  towards  Warren  county,  as  it  sent  him  to  Harris- 
burg  to  help  make  the  laws  for  the  great  state  of  Pennsylvania 
when  he  was  a  mere  boy.  He  is  not  the  man  to  forget  past  favors 
even  if  many  years  have  intervened. 

Our  postmaster,  Clyde  Wright,  says  his  father  put  down  an 
oil  well  at  Tidioute  41  years  ago  that  is  at  the  present  day  produc- 
ing a  half  barrel  of  oil  a  day.  We  have  a  well  in  Youngsville  that 
was  drilled  by  A.  McKinney  and  John  Black  22  years  ago  and  is 
now  flowing  a  half  barrel  a  day.  So  the  operators  of  the  present 
time  may  not  feel  discouraged  if  they  don't  strike  gushers  every 
time.  Small  wells  will  produce  longer  than  larger  ones.  At  the 
rate  some  wells  start  off  Lake  Erie  could  not  supply  them  forever 
and  forever.  Besides  a  little  slow  well  will  run  on  for  years  and 
years,  until  petroleum  gets  scarce  and  rises  in  price.  My  good 
friends  and  operators,  don't  get  in  a  hurry^ake  it  cool.     The 


146  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

oil  business  will  not  down. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

INTERESTING  LETTERS  TO  THE  AUTHOR. 

When  I  wrote  the  preceding  chapter  of  "Old  Times  in  Oildom" 
I  thought  I  had  finished.  But  since  the  publication  of  the  first  of 
the  articles  in  the  ''Derrick"  I  have  received  many  letters  from  the 
readers  of  that  paper,  a  few  of  which  I  would  like  to  have  printed. 
One  is  from  a  brother  of  the  late  Charles  Dinsmoor,  Esq  ,  of  Warren, 
and  who  is  now  an  expert  botanist,  of  St.  Marys,  W.  Va.  The 
letter  explains  itself.  It  does  more  than  explain  itself.  It  gives 
a  little  insight  into  the  size  of  my  feet  that  might  otherwise  have 
remained  a  secret,  so  far  as  those  who  never  saw  me  are  concerned: 

St.  Marys,  W.  Va.,  June  29,  1909. 
Hon.  G.  W.  Brown,  Youngsville,  Pa. 

Dear  Sir: — Your  "Old  Times  in  Oildom,"  now  running  in  the 
Oil  City  Semi- Weekly  Derrick,  is  most  intensely  interesting  to  me. 
It  is  barely  possible  that  you  can  remember  me.  I  was  "head" 
sawyer  at  Tiona  and  cut  lots  of  tank  plank  for  you  along  about 
1871,  '72  and  '73,  and  remember  you  quite  distinctly.  You  fre- 
quently gave  me  directions  of  the  kind  you  wanted.  You  were 
then  quite  grey,  somewhat  stooping  and  had  feet  nearly  as  large 
or  larger  than  President  Lincoln's.  One  instance  I  can  recall. 
You  were  standing  near  the  "edger"  in  a  slightly  dangerous  place. 
I  motioned  to  a  young  fellow  of  Irish  extraction,  directing  him  to 
have  you  stand  in  another  place,  as  you  might  get  injured.  He 
replied,  "Be  jabbers,  he  is  long  enough  for  this  world,"  meaning 
that  you  were  very  "tall  timber,"  as  we  denominated  six-footers. 
I  regret  not  having  had  the  pleasure  of  "hoeing  it  down"  after 
your  "scraping"  the  "fiddle"  and  keeping  time  with  your  No.  10s. 

Many  pleasures  have  come  my  way  in  the  last  half  hundred 
years;  none  that  surpassed  the  old-time  dances,  of  the  mill  and 
woods  men  and  women  of  "Old  Lang  Syne."  As  you  recalled  the 
names  of  leading  lumbermen  of  Warren  county,  a  sweet,  sad  re- 
membrance stole  over  me  that  I  can  scarcely  shake  off  yet.  I 
was  personally  acquainted  with  nearly  every  one  of  them.     Guess 


LETTERS  TO  THE  AUTHOR  147 

I  did  my  share  in  tearing  up  the  noble  wilderness  that  once  covered 
so  much  of  Warren  county;  perhaps  sawed  as  many  logs  as  any 
young  man  of  that  period;  every  piece  that  went  into  Pleasant 
bridge  at  Warren  in  *72;  also  the  timber  in  Dunkirk,  Warren  & 
Pittsburg  railroad;  hundreds  of  walking  beams;  also  stuff  that 
went  as  far  as  Boston.  Came  near  being  a  resident  of  Youngs- 
ville,  with  L.  B.  Wood,  but  commenced  to  roam;  have  since  spent 
20  years  in  the  west;  have  taken  the  Derrick  for  25  years  at  least; 
have  had,  and  still  have  splendid  health;  am  on  "Easy  street;" 
have  fine  children.  Was  born  on  the  very  summit  of  Quaker  hill, 
1,900  feet  above  the  Allegheny  river;  was  the  youngest  of  15 
children — one  only  settled  in  Warren,  Charles  Dinsmoor,  all  having 
crossed  over  except  three.  Am  now  living  one  and  a  quarter 
miles  from  the  Ohio  river,  550  feet  above  the  same.  On  my  next 
visit  to  Warren  county  will  make  it  a  point  to  see  Youngsville 
and  the  "15  miles  of  sidewalk."  Should  you  come  down  the  Ohio 
be  sure  to  stop  at  St.  Marys.  You  will  have  no  trouble  in  finding 
Dinsmoors  in  plenty. 

Sincerely  yours 

G.  W.  Dinsmoor. 

Another  letter  from  the  secretary  and  treasurer  of  the  Oil  Men's 
Association  of  Western  Pennsylvania  is  as  follows: 

Butler,  Pa.,  April  16,  1909 
Mr.  G.  W.  Brown, 

Youngsville,  Pa. 

Dear  Sir: — I  have  been  reading  your  reminiscences  in  the 
"Derrick"  with  interest.  These  old  stories  bring  up  memories  of 
the  past  and  are  worthy  of  being  preserved. 

The  Oil  Men's  Association  meets  this  year  at  Conneaut  Lake, 
August  5th,  and  would  be  glad  to  entertain  you  there  for  a  couple 
of  days. 

I  don't  know  whether  you  recall  me  or  not,  but  I  remember 
meeting  you  here  several  years  ago,  and  like  yourself,  I  have  been 
on  the  Derrick  staff  for  a  decade  or  more. 

I  remain,  with  best  wishes, 

Yours  respectfully, 

C.  R.  Wattson. 
The  Oil  Men's  Association  of  Western  Pennsylvania. 


148  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM. 

Another  letter  is  as  follows: 

Butler,  Pa.,  May  8,  1909. 
Hon.  G.  W.  Brown, 

Youngsville,  Pa. 

Dear  Sir: — It  is  these  reminiscences  that  the  oil  people  like  to 
go  over  again. 

Will  you  kindly  send  me  a  photo  of  yourself?     Thanking  you 
for  your  kindness  in  this  matter  and  with  best  wishes,  I  am, 

Sincerely  yours, 

e.  R.  Wattson, 
National  Transit  Company,  United  Pipe  Lines  Division. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


149 


'GEN.     CHARLES    MILLER. 


The  portrait  below  represents  a  gentleman  from  Franklin,  Pa.. 
who  is  a  power  unto  himself  and  all  that  he  comes  in  contact  with, 
It  is  beyond  the  power  of  my  pen  to  describe  him — a  book  the  size 
of  this  would  not  be  large  enough  to  do  him  justice.  There  is  but 
one  Gen.  Charles  Miller.  He  is  a  gentleman  of  so  many  parts  that 
it  is  impossible  to  describe  all,  and  it  seems  unfair  to  leave  off  any, 
when  all  are  equally  interesting.      It  is  a  real  puzzle  to  the  writer 


and  everybody  else  how  any'"man''can  handle  the  vast  amount  of 
financial  business,  social  matters,  church  matters,  military  matters 
and  other  matters  relating  to  a  busy  life,  and  act  in  each  capacity 
as  if  he  has  nothing  else  on  his  mind.  For  instance,  how  does  the 
General  find  time  with  his  multiplicity  of  business  of  many  kinds 
on  hand,  to  commit  to  memory  eyery  hymn  in  his  Sunday  school 
singing  book?  The  writer  of  this  has  had  the  extreme  pleasure  of 


150  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM 

attending  his  unequalled  Sunday  School  many  times,  and  never 
saw  him  look  at  his  book  while  leading  his  thousand  singers.  If 
a  stranger  attends  Sunday  School  at  the  First  Baptist  church, 
Franklin,  Pa.,  at  3:00  p.  m.,  any  Sunday,  when  the  General  is  not 
out  of  town  (and  the  strangers  names  are  legion  that  embrace  the 
opportunity  of  seeing  and  hearing  the  General  in  hh  role  of  Sunday 
School  Superintendent)  he  would  be  led  to  think  that  the  General 
had  been  occupied  all  the  past  week  in  preparing  the  program  and 
had  no  business  matters  on  his  mind.  His  immense  oil  business, 
railroad  business,  manufacturing  establish 'nents  and  military 
business  must  be  merely  playthings  to  him,  as  it  seems  to  be  enough 
to  fill  any  man's  head  to  do  the  church  work  that  Mr.  Miller  does 
with  the  expenditure  of  about  $600,000  on  one  church  in  the 
beautiful  little  city  of  Franklin,  Pa!,  alone,  not  to  mention  his  open 
hand  to  all  calls  from  numerous  other  churches.  When  General 
Miller  presents  himself  for  admission  at  St.  Peter's  gate,  the  keeper 
of  the  gate  will  not  be  ol^liged  to  count  pennies  to  ascertain 
whether  he  has  won  a  seat  in  Heavenly  mansions  by  a  close  finan- 
cial shave.  ''God  loves  a  cheerful  give^,''  and  if  any  man  or 
woman  can  take  comfort  in  this  Bible  promise  in  this  part  of  God's 
universe,  it  is  General  Charles  Miller  of  Franklin,  Pa. 


GLENNI    W.    SCOFIELD. 

The  following  portrait  represents  one  of  the  best  lawyers  and 
statesmen  that  ever  graced  the  nice  little  city  of  Warren.  His  poli- 
tical career  commenced  many  years  ago,  when  the  voters  sent  him 
to  represent  them  in  the  state  councils  at  Harrisburg.  He  made 
himself  felt  in  the  legislative  halls  to  such  an  extent  that  when  he 
spoke  all  listened.  He  was  a  man  of  fine  physique  and  had 
wonderful  oratorical  powers.  He  laid  the  foundation  at  Harris- 
burg for  a  successful  political  life.  His  great  talents  were  ever 
after  given  to  the  people  of  the  United  States,  his  unequalled  ser- 
vice to  the  great  state  of  Wm.  Penn  only  paved  the  way  to  more 
extended  service  of  his  beloved  country.  Term  after  term  in  con- 
gress was  given  to  him  by  his  admiring  constituents  until  he  was 
appointed  one  of  the  United  States  Judges,  which  position  he 
adorned  up  to  the  time  of  his  death.  Mr.  Scofield  was  not  one 
of  the  tricky  kind  of  politicians.  No  spot  or  blemish  ever  appeared 
either  in  his  private  or  public  life.  His  contsituents  will  endorse 
this  statement.     This  is  not  written  in  the  stereotyped  phrase 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES  151 

of  laudation  generally  used  in  the  praise  of  public  servants,  but  it 
is  solid  fact.  Judge  Scofield  has  left  behind  him  an  unsullied 
record,  that  future  generations  will  not  be  ashamed  of.  His  wife 
was  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Archibald  Tanner,  one  of  the  pioneers  of 


^  m 


Warren.  Hiy  old  stone  homestead  stands  in  the  very  heart  of 
Warren,  surrounded  by  tall  native  pines,  which  will  not  very  likely 
fall  victims  to  the  woodman's  ax,  while^^h is  son,  Archie,  and  daugh- 
ter inhabit  this  earth.  It  is  but*  a  few  weeksj since  the  Judges' 
life  partner,  his  wife,  was  laid  to  rest^by  his  side,^in  beautiful  Oak- 
and  cemetery. 


HON.  O.  C.  ALLEN. 

The  following  portrait  shows  the  face  of  one  of  the  leading  lights 
in  the  legal  line  in  W^arren  county. 
Mr.  Allen  was  born  on  a  backwoods  farm  in  Pineiro ve  township 


i5i 


OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM 


Warren  county,  Pa.  He  was  a  good  farmer  boy,  but  early  imbibed 
a  desire  for  a  knowledge  of  the  law.  He  belonged  to  a  law  loving 
family,  Samuel,  Harrison,  George,  brothers,  all  were  admitted  to 
the  Warren  bar  (the  first  two  named  have  long  since  passed  over 
the  divide  where  God's  law  is  supreme,  and  where  no  legal  discus- 
sions arise) .  George  went  toward  the  setting  sun  many  years  ago, 
and  has  honored  the  judicial  bench  of  some  western  town,  by  his 
being  chosen  to  decide  questions  of  law  for  his  newly  made  neigh- 
bors.    Of  the  quartette  of  Allen  lawyers,  only  ex-state  senator 


Hon.  O.  C.  Allen,  pleads  at  the  Warren  county  bar,  and  let  me  say 
right  here  that  his  natural  eloquence  is  not  excelled  in  this  "neck- 
0-woods."  Senator  Allen  has  a  lar^e  clientage  and  a  growing 
one,  and  as  Warren  does  not  lack  for  "limbs  of  the  law"  the  senator 
does  well  to  stay  at  the  head  of  the  flock.  As  I  have  S'.iid  before 
in  this  book,  Warren  has  furnished  more  good  judicial  timber  than 
any  town  of  its  si^e  in  western  Pennsylvania,  and  has  held  its  own 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


153 


up  to  the  present  time.  Senator  Allen  has  held  many  important 
offices,  borough  and  county,  and  state,  and  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant which  he  has  held  for  many  years  is  a  trustee  of  the  North 
Warren  Insane  Asylum.,  where  his  good  judgment  has  been  a  boon 
to  the  management  and  inmates. 


JOHN    L.    McKINNEY. 

The  cut  above  is  the  shadow  of  one  of  the  best  business  managers 
in  the  oil  country,  beginning  to  operate  in  oil  in  the  earliest  stages, 
when  the  spring  pole  done  duty  in  the  drilling  line.     He  was  one 


154  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM 

of  the  "ABC"  scholars.  He  commenced  by  putting  a  few  hun- 
dred dollars  in  a  well  and  following  said  few  hundred  dollars  with 
faithful  and  muscular  ''kicking" — kicking  at  a  spring  pole  was  the 
only  power  used  in  reaching  the  greasy  fluid  when  John,  in  his 
teens,  commenced  the  oil  business,  and  being  a  boy  ''man  grown," 
both  his  muscle  and  disposition  went  in  harmony  towards  a  good 
solid  day's  work.  He  met  with  losses  at  first  that  would  discour- 
age any  but  the  earnest,  in  an  unknown  business.  When  he  com- 
menced to  lay  the  foundation  of  his  fabulous  fortune,  he  met  with 
many  discouraging  cicumstances.  The  fortune  did  not  push  itself 
upon  him,  it  required  an  indomitable  will  on  his  part  to  climb  to 
the  financial  heights  to  which  he  has  attained.  He  comes  from 
solid  stock.  In  1792  John  McKinney,  (John  L's.  grandfather) 
came  from  the  north  of  Ireland  and  settled  at  Philadelphia,  Pa., 
then  came  to  Irvineton  with  a  party  of  surveyors,  preempted  the 
broad,  wald  river  flats  there.  Then  learned  that  Gen.  John  W. 
Irvine  held  a  claim  ahead  of  him.  He  then  relinquished  his 
claim  on  the  banks  of  the  Alegheny  river,  and  came  to  Youngs- 
ville  and  got  a  claim  on  nearly  all  the  land  in  sight.  Mr.  McKinney 
then  returned  to  Reading,  Pa.,  and  married  Miss  Rebecka  Arthur, 
and  brought  her  into  the  wilds  of  western  Pennsylvania  to  help 
him  hew  out  a  home  in  the  wilderness.  Shortly  after  the  couple 
were  settled  in  their  log  cabin,  a  Scotchman  came  and  boarded 
with  them,  named  Matthew  Young.  He  soon  made  himself  so 
useful  in  the  embryo  town,  that  Mr.  McKinney  consented  to  the 
town  being  named  Youngsville  instead  of  McKinneyville.  Eight 
sons  and  one  daughter  was  born  to  Mr.  McKinney  and  his  wife. 
The  eight  sons  and  one  daughter  are  all  dead.  Two  of  the  sons 
never  married.  Four  sons  and  the  daughter  have  each  but  one  living 
representative,  at  present.  Two  sons  Arthur  and  James,  have 
fair  sized  families  (the  latter  named,  James,  being  the  father  of 
the  well  known  oil  men,  John  L.  and  J.  C.  McKinney,  of  Titusville) 
The  two  named  in  brackets,  have  very  recently  (a  couple  of  months 
ago)  placed  an  eight  ton  monument  on  the  cemetery  lot  con- 
taining the  remains  of  their  grandparents,  named  above,  in  Odd 
Fellows'  cemetery,  Youngsville.  The  monument  is  of  Barre  Gran- 
ite and  of  beautiful  design.  The  goodman,  Mr.  McKinney,  sent  mon- 
ey to  Ireland  and  brought  his  two  brothers  to  this  country  and  pre- 
sented each  one  with  a  farm  and  sawmill.  He  also  presented  a 
farm  to  each  of  his  eight  sons,  and  to  his  only  daughter.  The  reader 
of  this  can  see  from  this  statement  that  the  McKinneys  have  done 
their  share  of  business  in  the  commercial  world  and  made  a  wilder- 
ness "blossom  as  the  rose." 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


155 


HON/ CHARLES  W.  STONE. 

Hon.  Charles  W.  Stone,  M.  C.  four  terms,  was  in  reality  the 
second  best  member  of  the  United  States  congress.  When  ''Tom" 
Reid  was  speaker  of  the  House  and  was  obliged  to  vacate  the  chair, 
Mr.  Stone  was  his  choice  as  his  substitute,  and  had  the  high  honor 
of  filling  Mr.  Reid's  place  a  week  at  a  time.     This  is  something  for 


the  wildcat  district  to  be  proud  of.  Mr.  Stone  has" the  qualfica- 
tions  of  a  first  class  business  man,  in  addition  to  his  high  statesman- 
ship. During  the  last  six  months  he  has  made  two  trips  to  Mexico, 
and  has  purchased  immense  tracts  of  timber  lands  which  is  an 
investment  not  loaded  down  with  uncertainties. 


156  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM 

Lawyer,  ex-congressman;  born  in  LS43;  among  his  ancestors 
there  were  Revolutionary  blue-coats,  intermarried  with  the  fam- 
ilies of  Prescott  and  Greene.  He  was  educated  at  Lawrence 
Academy  and  Williams  College,  earning  his  way  by  teaching  and 
other  work,  graduating  with  honor.  He  accepted  a  position  as 
principal  of  the  Union  School  at  Warren,  was  elected  County 
Superintendent  of  Schools  in  1865,  and  later  in  the  same  year  was 
chosen  principal  of  the  Academy  at  Erie.  He  took  up  the  study 
of  law,  was  admitted  to  practice  in  the  courts  of  Warren  county 
in  1866,  and  entered  into  partnership  with  Judge  Rasselas  Brown; 
served  three  years  in  the  borough  council,  nine  years  on  the  board 
of  school  directors,  and  the  last  three  years  as  its  president.  In 
1869  he  was  elected  to  the  legislature  from  the  counties  of  Warren 
and  Venango,  and  was  re-elected  without  opposition.  In  1876  he 
was  state  senator,  and  served  as  chairman  of  the  General  Judiciary 
Committee,  and  in  187S  ho  was  elected  lieutenant-governor. 
Mr.  Stone  was  one  of  the  thrcH'  commissioners  in  1883  who  located 
the  United  States  public  building  at  Erie,  and  later  was  a  repre- 
sentative of  Pennsylvania  at  the  Inter-state  Extradition  Confer- 
ence, called  by  the  governors  of  the  several  states; subsequently  be 
was  a  delegate  from  Pennsylvania  to  the  Prison  Congress,  over 
which  ex-president  Hayes  presided.  In  1877  he  was  appointed 
by  Governor  Beaver  to  be  Secretary  of  the  Commonwealth,  and 
served  until  his  election  to  Congress  from  the  twenty-seventh 
district  in  1890;  and  he  has  been  four  times  re-elected  by  large 
majorities.  During  two  of  the  terms  of  his  service  in  Congress 
he  was  the  efficient  chairman  of  the  Committee  on  Coinage, 
Weights  and  Measures.  In  1898  he  was  a  candidate  before  the 
Republican  convention  for  the  nomination  for  governor  and  re- 
ceived one  hundred  and  sixty-five  votes,  one  hundred  and  eighty- 
three  being  necessary  to  nominate.  Address:  Warren,  Pennsyl- 
vania. 


HON.  W.  M.  LINDSEY. 

This  photo  shows  the  face  of  another  of  the  self-made  men  of 
Warren  county.  He  was  born  and  raised  on  a  farm,  like  the 
majority  of  the  legal  lights  of  Warren,  but  left  agricultural  pur- 
suits and  studied  law  and  joined  issue  with  that  strong  minded 
lawyer,  Hon.  S.  P.  Johnson,  and  for  many  years  worked  in  harness 
with  Mr.  Johnson  and  when  the  latter  named  died,  was  chosen  to- 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


157 


fill  the  chair  recently  vacated  after  a  ten  years  service  by  his  long- 
time partner,  The  Hon.  W.  M.  Lindsey,  has  just  finished  his  ten 
year  service  as  President  Judge  of  this  district  and  leaves  without 
a  blemish  on  the  judicial  ermin(\  Although  entirely  competent 
to  fill  any  office  in  the  gift  of  the  people,  Mr.  Lindsey  has  refused 


to  mix  in  politics  very  deep,  preferring  to  give  his  rich  talents  un- 
dividedly  to  the  laws  of  his  country.  The  ex-judge  is  compara- 
tively a  young  man  yet,  and  no  doubt  he  will  be  one  of  our  law- 
makers before  he  quits  this  mundane  sphere.  He  is  fitted  for  a 
politician  in  many  respects,  the  one  best  respect  is  geni9(lity.  It  is 
his  nature  to  be  social,  the  best  hold  of  a  politician. 


158 


OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM 


C.  N.  PAYNE. 


The^'man  whose  photograph  is  seen  below  is  one  of  the  many 
self-made  men  of  the  oil  region.  He  pitched  into  the  oil  business 
when  a  boy  and  took  hold  of  it  just  as  though  he  had  served  an 
apprenticeship  at  the  business.  At  the  time  of  his  leaving  his 
fathers  farm,  the  oil  business  was  an  untried  proposition.  There 
were  no  precedents  to  follow  and  nobody  had  learned  the 
business  for  the  reason'that  it  had  never  been  a  business.     It  had 


to  be  worked  up  to  a  point  where  it  could  be  called  a  business. 
Nobody  could  impart  knowledge  to  anybody  else.  All  men  stood 
on  an  equality,  each  could  guess  as  close  as  th(^  other,  but  all  were 
not  good  guessers.  C.  N.  Payne  was  one  of  the  ''cut  and  try" 
good  guessers,  he  had  a  way  of  his  own  and  his  way  was  crowned 
with  success  from  the  beginning.  Much  pluck,  good  sense  and 
good  management  put  him  to  the  front  and  he  is  now  one  of  the 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES] 


159 


valuable  advisors  of  the  greatest  business  aggregation  in  the  world 
to-day.  Mr.  Payne  owns  three  automobiles  and  his  son-in-law 
owns  one,  four  housed  in  the  same  garage.  His  dwelling  house  in 
Titusville  shows  signs  of  opulence  on  the  part  of  its  owner  that 
are  unmistakable.  His  high  standing  in  the  oleaginous  world 
has  not  unhinged  ''CaPs"  mind  in  the  direction  of  geniality.  He 
don't  let  his  immense  business  spoil  him  socially.  He  can  make 
an  old  acquaintance  feel  as  much  at  home  in  conversation  as  be- 
fore he  climbed  the  oilly  ladder. 


HON.  F.  M.  KNAPP. 


Frank  M.  Knapp,  of  Warren,  Pa.,  was  born  in  the  township  of 
Farmington,  Warren  county,  Pa.,  June  29,  1851.  His  early  life 
was  spent  on  his  father's  farm,  where  during  the  suraraer^  he  did 


160  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM 

such  work  as  is  required  of  those  engaged  in  this  occupation,  and 
during  the  winter  months  he  attended  the  District  school.^  At 
the  age  of  18  and  for  several  years  thereafter  he  followed  the  occu- 
pation of  a  ''school  teacher"  during  the  winter  and  attended  the 
Jamestown  Collegiate  Institute  and  the  Edinboro  State  Normal 
during  the  fall  months.  In  1873  he  entered  the  law  office  of 
Johnson  &  Lindsey  as  a  student  and  in  1875  was  admitted  to  the 
Warren  County  Bar.  He  followed  the  law  profession  until  1880, 
when  his  Republican  friends  elected  him  county  treasurer.  At 
the  expiration  of  his  term  in  1883  he  entered  actively  general 
manufat-turing,  production  of  oil  and  gas  and  general  business. 
From  1898  to  1904  he  held  the  office  of  Prothonotary  and  Clerk 
of  Courts  of  Warren  county.  He  was  twice  elected  chairman  of 
the  Republican  party  of  his  county. 

At  the  present  time  Mr.  Knapp  is  the  president  of  the  Jacobson 
Machine  Manufacturing  Co.,  the  Treasurer  an  \'ice-President  of 
the  Warren  Table  Works,  the  secretary  of  the  Allegheny  Foundry 
Co.,  and  secretary  and  treasvu'er  of  several  large  Carbon  Companies 
operating  in  West  Mrginia. 

He  is  a  member  of  the  First  M.  E.  church,  of  Warren,  Pa. 

In  politics  he  has  always  been  a  true  and  loyal  supporter  of 
the  principles  of  the  Republican  party.  His  first  presidential 
vote  was  cast  for  General  Grant  and  his  last  for  Wm.  H.  Taft. 

Mr.  Knapp  in  addition  to  his  law  business  takes  a  hand  in  the 
business  of  building  up  the  city  of  Warren.  -He  is  president  of 
the  Glade  Oil  Refinery,  Treasurer  of  the  Jacobson  manufactory, 
half  owner  of  the  latest  big  brick  block  built  in  Warren,  on  a  corner 
near  the  New  Struthers  hotel,  and  lives  in  and  owns  a  dwelling 
house  that  shows  opulence  on  the  part  of  the  owner.  Taken  all  in 
all  he  is  a  good  man  for  the  up-building  of  his  home  town. 


GEO.  E.  LANGDON. 

Geo.  E.  Langdon,  editor  and  proprietor  of  the  Youngs ville 
Enterprise,  one  of  the  representative  young  men  of  this  section, 
never  did  anything  of  much  account  to  the  great  oil  business,  but 
was  born  in  Duke  Centre,  McKean  county.  Pa.,  March  2(),  1881, when 
the  oil  excitement  was  at  its  height.  He  can  remember  ''Duke" 
in  its  palmy  days  when  it  was  served  by  two  railroads  (but  now  it 
has  none)  and  had  a  very  laige  population,  living  in  houses  built 
upon  blocks  as  was  typical  of  oil  country  mushroom  towns.     He 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


161 


says  that  the  "wheeze"  of  the  old  Duke  Centre  pump  station  that 
run  night  and  day  for  years  still  lingers  in  his  ears. 

He  is  the  son  of  Rev.  and  Mrs.  C.  (J.  Langdon,  now  of  Warren, 
Pa.  His  father  was  a  rig  builder  and  pipe  line  man.  When 
George  was  but  a  small  boy  his  father  caught  a  hand'between  a 
walking  beam  and  sampson  post,  and  smashed  that  member,  losing 


two  fingers.     He  never  took  up  oil  work  again,  but  entered  the 
ministry. 

Geo.  E.  Langdon  entered  the  newspaper  business  at  the  age  of 
nineteen  years,  when,  in  partnership  with  his  father  and  a  brother, 
J.  P.,  now  of  Warren,  they  started  the  Warren  County  Record, 
at  Sugar  Grove,  Pa.     Afterward  he  and  his  brother  were  left  tg 


162  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM 

carry  on  the  newspaper  and  printing  business.  In  the  spring  of 
1907,  they  moved  their  plant  to  Youngsville  and  founded  the 
Youngsville  Enterprise.  In  January,  1909,  J.  P.  took  up  other 
work  and  left  Geo.  E.  proprietor  and  editor  of  the  Enterprise. 

The  Enterprise  is  the  pride  of  Youngsville  and  one  of  the  best 
papers  in  this  section  and  is  loyally  supported  by  the  people  of 
the  town  and  vicinity.  Its  mechanical  equipment  is  probably 
one  of  the  very  best  to  be  found  in  any  country  office,  and  in- 
cludes one  of  the  most  complicated  and  remarkable  machines  now 
manufactured — a  Lanston  Monotype. 

M^.  Langdon  has  a  long  life  before  him,  and  if  nothing  happens 
will  make  himself  an  influential  citizen  in  the  near  future,  and 
build  up  a  lucrative  business  and  an  enviable  reputation. 


JAMES  ROY. 


The  following  Obituary  of  James  Roy  is  reprinted  from  a  War- 
ren paper  published  at  the  time  of  his  death.  It  is  very  appro- 
priate. 

IN  MEMORIAM. 

Since  our  last  issue  Warren  county  has  suffered  a  very  heavy 
loss  in  the  death  of  Mr.  James  Roy,  of  Glade  township.  He  was 
born  in  Phelpstown,  Ontario  Co.,  N.  Y.,  on  the  14th  of  September, 
1822.  He  came  to  this  state  in  1836,  locating  in  Elk  township. 
For  many  years  he  was  one  or  the  most  prominent  lumbermen  in 
this  section  of  the  state. 

In  the  various  business  enterprises  which  engaged  his  attention, 
farming,  stock  raising,  oil  producing  or  lumbering,  he  was  ever 
known  for  unwavering  honesty  and  integrity.  He  was  not  a 
member  of  a  church  but  his  life  would  put  to  shame  that  of  many 
who  are,  judged  by  the  test  of  the  Apostle  James: 

"Pure  religion  and  undefiled  before  God  and  the  Father  is  this: 
To  visit  the  fatherless  and  widows  in  their  auction  and  to  keep 
himself  unspotted  from  the  world.'* 

What  he  knew  to  be  right  he  did,  and  had  no  use  for  questionable 
methods  of  acquiring  wealth  by  taking  advantage  of  the  neces- 
sities of  others. 

His  generosity  was  unbounded  and  his  supreme  happiness  was 
in  doing  good. 

He  died  on  Friday  afternoon  surrounded  by  his  two  sons  and 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


163 


five  daughters.     The  survivors  have  the  deepest  sympathy  of  the 
community  in  their  irreparable  loss. 

The  following  beautiful  lines  which  appeared  in  print  several 
years  ago,  are,  we  think,  very  appropriate  to  our  late'esteemed  and 
benevolent  fellow  citizen,  Mr.  James  Roy. 


iS*l!^ 


WHAT   WAS   HIS   CREED. 

He  left  a  load  of  anthracite 

In  front  of  a  poor  widow's  door, 
When  the  deep  snow,  frozen  and  white, 

Wrap'd  street  and  square,  mountain  and  moor. 
That  was  his  deed; 

He  did  it  well; 
"What  was  his  creed?"^ 
I  cannot  tell. 


164  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM 

Blest  ''in  his  basket  and  his  store," 

In  sitting  down  and  rising  up; 
A\hen  more  he  got,  he  gave  the  more, 
Withholding  not  the  crust  and  cup. 
He  took  the  lead 

In  each  good  task; 
"What  was  his  creed?" 
I  did  not  ask. 

His  charity  was  like  the  snow, 

Soft,  white  and  silken  in  its  fall; 
Not  like  the  noisy  winds  that  blow 
From  shivering  trees  and  leaves;  a  pall 
For  flower  and  weed. 

Dropping  below. 
"What  was  his  creed?" 
The  poor  may  know. 

He  had  great  faith  in  loaves  of  bread 
For  hungry  people,  young  and  old; 
And  "hope  inspired  kind  words"  he  said, 
To  him  he  sheltered  from  the  cold. 
For  he  must  feed 

As  well  as  pray. 
"What  was  his  creed?" 
I  cannot  say. 

In  words  he  did  not  put  his  trust, 
In  faith  his  words  he  never  writ; 
He  loved  to  share  his  cup  and  crust 
With  all  mankind  who  needed  it. 
In  time  of  need 

A  friend  was  he. 
"What  was  his  creed?" 
He  told  not  me. 

He  put  his  trust  in  Heaven,  and 

Worked  ever  on  with  hand  and  head; 
And  what  he  gave  in  charity 

Sweetened  his  sleep  and  daily  bread. 
Let  us  take  heed. 
For  life  is  brief! 
"What  was  his  creed?" 
"What  his  belief?" 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


165 


CAPT.    H.    H.    CUMMINGS. 

Captain  H.  H.  Cummings  was  born  in  Monmouth,  Illinois,  but 
spent  his  youth  and  early  manhood  in  Madison,  Ohio.  He  gradu- 
ated in  1862  from  Oberlin  college  and  immediately  entered  the 
Union  arm}^ — served  until  the  end  of  the  war — was  captain  of 
the  105th  Ohio  Volunteer  Infantry.  In  September  1865  he  came 
to  the  Pennsylvania  oil  regions,  and  was  located  in  June  1866  at 
Tidioute,  Pa.,  engaged  in  buying  and  shipping  crude  oil  and  operat- 
ing an  oil  refinery,  as  a  member  of  Day  &  Co.     Late  in  the  year 


1873  he  formed  a  partnership  with  Jahu  Hunter,  of  Tidioute,  in 
operating  for  oil  on  the  fourth  sand  or  ''cross  belt"  in  Butler  and 
Armstrong  counties,  Pennsylvania,  successfully  for  maiiy  years, 
and  is  still  owning  oil  wells  in  these  counties,  also  in  the  Bradford 
district  and  recently  in  Oklahoma,  since  1880  to  the  present  time. 
He  is  considerably  interested  in  lumbering  in  Missouri  and  for  the 


166 


OLD'  TIMES  IN  OILDOM 


past  few  years  in  Louisiana.  At  one  time  he  was  interested  in 
lands  in  the  Red  River  Valley  in  North  Dakota.  The  cap- 
tain represented  the  Warren  and  Venango  districts  in  the 
senate  of  Pennsylvania  for  eight  years,  1899  to  1906. 

Such  men  as  Captain  Cummings  are  an  honor  to  Warren  county 
and  the  state  of  Pennsylvania,  as  a  helper  in  making  laws  for  the 
Keystone  state  he  has  no  superiors  and  but  few  equals.  Oh,  for 
more  Cummings  as  law  makers  for  the  great  state  of  Pennsyl- 
vania and  the  nation. 


HON.  J.  C.  McKINNEY.       . 

The  above  portrait  is  a  good  reminder  of  a  former  mayor  of 
Titusville,  and  one  of  the  upbuilders  of  the  Queen  City.  He 
was  born  near  Youngsville,  before  oil  was  discovered  in  this  coun- 
try.   He  was  ft  faithful  helper  of.  his  father,  James  McKiijinjey,  who 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES  167 

owned  and  run  a  sawmill  a  couple  of  miles  up  the  Brokenstraw 
creek,  above  the  town  of  Youngsville.  The  rich  soil  of  the  Brok- 
enstraw valley  was  drawn  upon  in  the  summer  time  to  bolster  up 
the  lumber  business  in  the  winter  time.  The  mill  was  always  run 
when  the  water  was  at  a  good  stage,  or  not  frozen  to  thick  ice 

The  ancestral  history  of  Hon.  J.  C.  McKinney,  will  be  found  in. 
the  souvenir  number  of  the  evening  Titusville  Courier,  for  1906, 
and  also  in  the  biography  of  an  older  brother,  Hon.  John  L.  McKin- 
ney, in  the  ''History  of  Petroleum,"  written  by  J.  T.  Henry,  in 
1873. 

Hon.  J.  C.  McKinney,  like  his  brother,  John  L.,  pitched  into  the 
oil  business  on  his  own  account  when  but  a  boy,  and  prosecuted 
the  work  with  wisdom  and  vigor  for  five  years,  being  unusually 
successful  in  several  fields.  He  then  went  into  partnership  with 
his  brother,  John  L.,  and  has  remained  a  partner  up  to  the  present, 
about  39  years.  It  is  doubtful  if  a  like  history  can  be  found  in  the 
archives  of  oil  country  history. 


HON.    R.    E.    DICKINSON. 

He  whose  picture  adorns  the  next  page  of  "Old  Times  in  Oildom" 
is  the  present  mayor  of  Titusville,  the  city  and  birthplace  of 
Seneca  oil.  He  also  enjoys  the  distinction  of  acting  as  confiden- 
tial secretary  to  the  millionaire,  Hon.  John  L.  McKinney,  for  the 
last  15  years.  As  a  sign  of  good  standing  in  his  adopted  home  he 
was  elected  as  a  Democrat  mayor  in  a  city  which  is  largely  Repub- 
lican. The  Hon.  Mr.  Dickinson  is  the  youngest  mayor  that  ever 
occupied  the  executive  chair  in  Titusville.  He  was  elected 
in  February  1908.  He  is  qualified  for  any  position  that  the  far 
famed  city  of  Titusville  may  put  upon  him.  He  is  the  son  of 
Augustus  Warren  and  Clara  Olney  Dickinson.  Born  in  Butler 
county.  Pa.,  July  30th,  1877.  Was  graduated  from  Titusville 
high  school  in  1895,  and  then  secured  a  position  with  the  South 
Penn  Oil  company  and  has  been  associated  with  Hon.  John  L. 
McKinney  and  Hon.  J.  C.  McKinney,  •  vice  president  and  general 
manager  respectively  of  said  company,  ever  since. 

Mr.  Dickinson  was  married  April  17, 1901,  to  Miss  Mary  Theobold, 
daughter  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Peter  Theobold,  who  was  a  pioneer  in  the 
oil  refining  business,  being  president  of  the  Independent  Refining 
Company  of  Oil  City,  Pa.     Hon.  R.  E.  Dickifison  is  in  the  prime  of 


168 


OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM 


life  and  no  doubt  but  his  past  success  will  cling  to  him  for  many, 
many  years  to  come.  His  host  of  fricmds  all  hope  so  and  he  will 
not  be  likely  to  disappoint  them. 


A.   J.   HAZELTINE. 


This  portrait  represents  one  of  the  best  bankers  in  the  state  of 
Pennsylvania.  Below  will  be  found  a  brief  history  of  his  rise  to  a 
self-made  man. 

Born  on  Hazeltine  homestead  in  Chautauqua  county,  New  York, 
in  1847.     Educated  in  the  common  schools.     Began  business  life 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


169 


in  a  country  store  and  was  partner  in  business  at  the  age  of  18. 
Was  Deputy  Clerk  of  the  Board  of  Supervisors  of  Chautauqua 
county  in  1869,  but  came  to  Warren,  Nov.  10,  1869,  as  bookkeeper 
for  the  Piso  Co.  Was  chosen  bookkeeper  of  the  First  National 
Bank  in  March,  1870,  and  teller  of  the  same  bank  in  September, 
1870.  He  was  elected  cashier  of  the  Warren  Savings  bank  Feb.l, 
1872,  president  of  the  same  on  the  death  of  the  former  president, 


^iiri 


Col.  Watson,  in  November,  1889.  Is  still  president  of  the  bank. 
Has  been  on  the  U.  S.  Assay  commission,  treasurer  of  Pennsylvania 
Bankers  Association  and  on  legislative  committee  of  the  Association 
which  drafts  the  new  law  as  to  reserve  of  state,  banks. 

His  son,  Dr.  Harold  Dexter  Hazeltine,  is  now  professor  in   Engjr 
Ush  law  at  Cambridge  Umversity,  England, 


170 


OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM 


^vwfS**     9F*^ 


J.  B.  WHITE. 


This  portrait  shows  the  face  and  features  of  a  self-made  man 
But  few  equals  can  be  found  in  this  country  of  ours.  Further 
remarks  on  the  career  of  the  Hon.  J.  B.  White  will  be  found  on 
pages  20,  144  and  145  of  this  book. 


OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM  17  1 

CONTENTS. 


Page 

Hauling  Oil  on  Sleds    5 

Staging  Before  Railroads  Were  a  Blessing  to  Oil  City 7 

Oil  Creek  Pond  "Fresh" 9 

Pithole  Hotel  and  Livery  Charges 11 

General  Burnside's   Railroad    13 

James  S.  McCray 16 

The  Grandins  and  J.  B.  White   20 

Narrow  Escape  From  Being  a  Bloated  Bondholder  . .  . .  , 23 

The  Lumber  Business  in  Parker  City 25 

John  Galey  and   the  Robinsons      28 

Parker    City 30 

Oil  City  Sixty  Years  Ago 33 

Jack  McCray r  •  •  •  •  •  •  37 

A  Greedy  Landlord    40 

When  Oil  City  was  a  Shanty  Town    46 

High  Standard  Officials  who  are  Natives  of  Brokenstraw  Valley    . .  49 

Big  Things  Which  Started  in  Western  Pennsylvania    52 

Could  Not  Give  His  Rocky  Hillside  Away     55 

A  Public  Spirited  and  Successful  Editor 60 

Something  About  Gas    63 

Youngsville's  Prospects  of  Oil  and  Gas     66 

Bad  Oil  Speculation 70 

H.  P.  Kinnear  and  the  L  O.  O.  F I 73 

Oil  Region  Inhabitants 77 

Pickpockets       81 

Old  Time  Lumbermen 84 

New  Times  in  Oildom   , . .  ; 88 


172  OLD  TIMES  IN  OILDOM 

CONTENTS^  (CONTINUED.) 

poorp 

Old  Time  Oil  Tanks 92 

Starving  Animals    97 

Old  Time  Quadrille  Band 101 

Churches  in  the  Old  Times 104 

God  Bless  the  Swedes  IO9 

Youngsville's   Founders  and  Business  Men 114 

New  Times  in  Oildom 121 

"Dune"  Karns  and  "Tom"  King   125 

Warren's  Big  Men      129 

West  Virginia  Experiences 134 

Rambling  Recollections  of  the  Last  Fifty  Years  in  the  Oil  and 

Lumber  Country 140 

Interesting  Letters  to  the  Author     146 

BIOGRAPHICAL   SKETCHES. 

Gen.  Charles  Miller    149 

Hon.   Glenni  W.   Scofield 150 

Hon.  O.  C.  Allen    151 

Hon.   John   L.   McKinney    153 

Hon.  Chas  W.  Stone     155 

Hon.   W.   M.   Lindsey    156 

C.  N.  Payne 158 

Frank  M.   Knapp    r,- 159 

Geo.    E.    Langdon 160 

James     Roy     162 

Capt.   H.  H.  Cummings    165 

Hon.  J.  C.  McKinney   166 

Hon.  R.  E.  Dickinson   167 

A.    J.    Hazeltine     168 

Hon.   J.   B.   White    170 


COPYRIGHT,    1910,    BY    GEO.    W.    BROWN 


^ 


N 


■MUlii 

m 


JjM>^v:f  «;;v; :;  ■ :,  •';  ■.C,\'i  ■  ^:^2iilS.^; , 


ff '?;v';vr":-,.^h!->5 


^^^ 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 


Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


22I.lav'50BZ 


D5J3  end  of  FALL  G  uartB? 


TRs- 


!  n  r  i    r 


ffirayi  m^H^  «r»uvi 


SEiTQ  LD   MI12  7  73  -^i  PMO^ 


INTERL.IBRARY  LOAN 


,tACKS 


WCN 


/^^2  9  1977 


gECDLD   MW2 


UNIV.  O^  CALIF..  BERKi 


7  73  -3  PM09 


l-100m-ll,'49(B71468l6)476 


^%1'^di^^r^..'- 


T^^^ssisi^srsi^^^f" 


IV1178900 


19(0 

THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CAUFORNIA  LIBRARY 


